Mr.  Harte  in  1896 


BRET    HARTE'S 
WRITINGS 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS 
AND  OTHER  SKETCHES 


SPECIAL  EDITION 

MADE  FOR  "REVIEW  OF  REVIEWS1 
BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

ftitters'ibc  press?,  <£ambri&0e, 


Univ.  Library,  Univ.  Calif.,  Santa  Crux 


Copyright,  1872, 
Br  JAMES  R.  OSOOOD  AND  COMPANY. 

Copyright,  1900, 
BY  BRET  HARTB. 

All  rights  reserved. 


/M?5 
I 


CONTENTS. 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS 3 

How  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR          .  55 

THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS         ...  80 

THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY  BAR 102 

MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL 121 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW      .        .        .  134 

THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT 153 

THE  CHRISTMAS  G-IFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT          .  171 

URBAN  SKETCHES. 

A  VENERABLE  IMPOSTOR 185 

FROM  A  BALCONY     .        .        .        .     •  .        .  191 

MELONS 199 

SURPRISING     ADVENTURES  OF    MASTER    CHARLES 

SUMMERTON 210 

SIDE  WALKINGS 216 

A  BOY'S  DOG 224 

CHARITABLE  REMINISCENCES          ....  230 

"  SEEING  THE  STEAMER  OFF  "    .        r        .        .  238 

NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM  .        .  245 


iv  CONTENTS. 

MY  SUBURBAN  KESIDENCE 259 

ON  A  VULGAR  LITTLE  BOY      .        .        .        .  267 

WAITING  FOR  THE  SHIP       •        *V  *        •    x    •  271 

LEGENDS  AND  TALES. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO        .        •  277 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  PADRE  VICENTIO  .        .        .  299 

THE  LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT        .        .        *  310 

THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER       .        .        •        .  322 

THE  OGRESS  OF  SILVER  LAND          .-       «        .  •  328 

THE  RUINS  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO     ....  337 

A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM   .        .        *       •        •  342 


MES.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

PART  I. — WEST. 

THE  sun  was  rising  in  the  foot-hills.  But  for 
an  hour  the  black  mass  of  Sierra  eastward 
of  Angel's  had  been  outlined  with  fire,  and  the 
conventional  morning  had  come  two  hours  before 
with  the  down  coach  from  Placerville.  The  dry, 
cold,  dewless  California  night  still  lingered  in  the 
long  canons  and  folded  skirts  of  Table  Mountain. 
Even  on  the  mountain  road  the  air  was  still  sharp, 
and  that  urgent  necessity  for  something  to  keep 
out  the  chill,  which  sent  the  barkeeper  sleepily 
among  his  bottles  and  wineglasses  at  the  station, 
obtained  all  along  the  road. 

Perhaps  it  might  be  said  that  the  first  stir  of 
life  was  in  the  bar-rooms.  A  few  birds  twittered 
in  the  sycamores  at  the  roadside,  but  long  before 
that  glasses  had  clicked  and  bottles  gurgled  in  the 
saloon  of  the  Mansion  House.  This  was  still  lit 
by  a  dissipated-looking  hanging-lamp,  which  was 
evidently  the  worse  for  having  been  up  all  night, 
and  bore  a  singular  resemblance  to  a  faded  reveller 
of  Angel's,  who  even  then  sputtered  and  flickered 
in  his  socket  in  an  arm-chair  below  it,  —  a  resem- 


4  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

blance  so  plain  that  when  the  first  level  sunbeam 
pierced  the  window-pane,  the  barkeeper,  moved 
by  a  sentiment  of  consistency  and  compassion,  put 
them  both  out  together. 

Then  the  sun  came  up  haughtily.  When  it  had 
passed  the  eastern  ridge  it  began,  after  its  habit, 
to  lord  it  over  Angel's,  sending  the  thermometer 
up  twenty  degrees  in  as  many  minutes,  driving  the 
mules  to  the  sparse  shade  of  corrals  and  fences, 
making  the  red  dust  incandescent,  and  renewing 
its  old  imperious  aggression  on  the  spiked  bosses 
of  the  convex  shield  of  pines  that  defended  Table 
Mountain.  Thither  by  nine  o'clock  all  coolness 
had  retreated,  and  the  "  outsides  "  of  the  up  stage 
plunged  their  hot  faces  in  its  aromatic  shadows  as 
in  water. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  driver  of  the  Wingdam 
coach  to  whip  up  his  horses  and  enter  Angel's  at 
that  remarkable  pace  which  the  woodcuts  in  the 
hotel  bar-room  represented  to  credulous  humanity 
as  the  usual  rate  of  speed  of  that  conveyance.  At 
such  times  the  habitual  expression  of  disdainful 
reticence  and  lazy  official  severity  which  he  wore 
on  the  box  became  intensified  as  the  loungers 
gathered  about  the  vehicle,  and  only  the  boldest 
ventured  to  address  him.  It  was  the  Hon.  Judge 
Beeswinger,  Member  of  Assembly,  who  to-day 
presumed,  perhaps  rashly,  on  the  strength  of  his 
official  position. 


MBS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  5 

"  Any  political  news  from  below,  Bill  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  the  latter  slowly  descended  from  his 
lofty  perch,  without,  however,  any  perceptible 
coming  down  of  mien  or  manner. 

"  Not  much,"  said  Bill,  with  deliberate  gravity. 
"  The  President  o'  the  United  States  hez  n't  bin 
hisself  sens  you  refoosed  that  seat  in  the  Cabinet. 
The  ginral  feelin'  in  perlitical  circles  is  one  o'  re- 
gret." 

Irony,  even  of  this  outrageous  quality,  was  too 
common  in  Angel's  to  excite  either  a  smile  or  a 
frown.  Bill  slowly  entered  the  bar-room  during 
a  dry,  dead  silence,  in  which  only  a  faint  spirit 
of  emulation  survived. 

"  Ye  did  n't  bring  up  that  agint  o'  Kothschild's 
this  trip  ? "  asked  the  barkeeper,  slowly,  by  way 
of  vague  contribution  to  the  prevailing  tone  of 
conversation. 

"  No,"  responded  Bill,  with  thoughtful  exacti- 
tude. "  He  said  he  could  n't  look  inter  that  claim 
o'  Johnson's  without  first  consultin'  the  Bank  o' 
England." 

The  Mr.  Johnson  here  alluded  to  being  present 
as  the  faded  reveller  the  barkeeper  had  lately  put 
out,  and  as  the  alleged  claim  notoriously  possessed 
no  attractions  whatever  to  capitalists,  expectation 
naturally  looked  to  him  for  some  response  to  this 
evident  challenge.  He  did  so  by  simply  stating  that 
he  would  "  take  sugar  "  in  his,  and  by  walking  un* 


6  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

steadily  toward  the  bar,  as  if  accepting  a  festive 
invitation.  To  the  credit  of  Bill  be  it  recorded 
that  he  did  not  attempt  to  correct  the  mistake,  but 
gravely  touched  glasses  with  him,  and  after  saying 
"  Here  's  another  nail  in  your  coffin,"  —  a  cheerful 
sentiment,  to  which  "And  the  hair  all  off  your 
head,"  was  playfully  added  by  the  others,  —  he 
threw  off  his  liquor  with  a  single  dexterous  move- 
ment of  head  and  elbow,  and  stood  refreshed. 

"  Hello,  old  major  ! "  said  Bill,  suddenly  setting 
down  his  glass.  "  Are  you  there  ? " 

It  was  a  boy,  who,  becoming  bashfully  con- 
scious that  this  epithet  was  addressed  to  him;  re- 
treated sideways  to  the  doorway,  where  he  stood 
beating  his  hat  against  the  door-post  with  an 
assumption  of  indifference  that  his  downcast  but 
mirthful  dark  eyes  and  reddening  cheek  scarcely 
bore  out.  Perhaps  it  was  owing  to  his  size,  perhaps 
it  was  to  a  certain  cherubic  outline  of  face  and  fig- 
ure, perhaps  to  a  peculiar  trustfulness  of  expression, 
that  he  did  not  look  half  his  age,  which  was  really 
fourteen. 

Everybody  in  Angel's  knew  the  boy.  Either 
under  the  venerable  title  bestowed  by  Bill,  or  as 
"  Tom  Islington,"  after  his  adopted  father,  his  was 
a  familiar  presence  in  the  settlement,  and  the 
theme  of  much  local  criticism  and  comment.  His 
waywardness,  indolence,  and  unaccountable  amia- 
bility—  a  quality  at  once  suspicious  and  gratui- 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S   HUSBANDS.  7 

tons  in  a  pioneer  community  like  Angel's  —  had 
often  been  the  subject  of  fierce  discussion.  A 
large  and  reputable  majority  believed  him  des- 
tined for  the  gallows ;  a  minority  not  quite  so 
reputable  enjoyed  his  presence  without  troubling 
themselves  much  about  his  future ;  to  one  or  two 
the  evil  predictions  of  the  majority  possessed 
neither  novelty  nor  terror. 

"Anything  for  me,  Bill  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  half 
mechanically,  with  the  air  of  repeating  some  jocu- 
lar formulary  perfectly  understood  by  Bill. 

"  Anythin'  for  you  !  "  echoed  Bill,  with  an  over- 
acted severity  equally  well  understood  by  Tommy, 
—  "  anythin'  for  you  ?  ISTo  !  And  it 's  my  opinion 
there  won't  be  anythin'  for  you  ez  long  ez  you 
hang  around  bar-rooms  and  spend  your  valooable 
time  with  loafers  and  bummers.  Git ! " 

The  reproof  was  accompanied  by  a  suitable  ex- 
aggeration of  gesture  (Bill  had  seized  a  decanter), 
before  which  the  boy  retreated  still  good-humoredly. 
Bill  followed  him  to  the  door.  "  Dem  my  skin,  if 
he  hez  n't  gone  off  with  that  bummer  Johnson," 
he  added,  as  he  looked  down  the  road. 

"  What 's  he  expectin',  Bill  ? "  asked  the  bar- 
keeper. 

"  A  letter  from  his  aunt.  Eeckon  he  '11  hev  to 
take  it  out  in  expectin'.  Likely  they  're  glad  to 
get  shut  o'  him." 

"  He  's  leadin'  a  shiftless,  idle  life  here,"  inter* 
posed  the  Member  of  Assembly. 


8  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

"  Well,"  said  Bill,  who  never  allowed  any  one 
but  himself  to  abuse  his  protfytf,  "  seem'  he  ain't 
expectin'  no  offis  from  the  hands  of  an  enlightened 
constitooency,  it  is  rayther  a  shiftless  life."  After 
delivering  this  Parthian  arrow  with  a  gratuitous 
twanging  of  the  bow  to  indicate  its  offensive 
personality,  Bill  winked  at  the  barkeeper,  slowly 
resumed  a  pair  of  immense,  bulgy  buckskin 
gloves,  which  gave  his  fingers  the  appearance 
of  being  painfully  sore  and  bandaged,  strode  to 
the  door  without  looking  at  anybody,  called 
out,  "  All  aboard,"  with  a  perfunctory  air  of  su- 
preme indifference  whether  the  invitation  was 
heeded,  remounted  his  box,  and  drove  stolidly 
away. 

Perhaps  it  was  well  that  he  did  so,  for  the  con- 
versation at  once  assumed  a  disrespectful  attitude 
toward  Tom  and  his  relatives.  It  was  more  than 
intimated  that  Tom's  alleged  aunt  was  none  other 
than  Tom's  real  mother,  while  it  was  also  asserted 
that  Tom's  alleged  uncle  did  not  himself  partici- 
pate in  this  intimate  relationship  to  the  boy  to  an 
extent  which  the  fastidious  taste  of  Angel's  deemed 
moral  and  necessary.  Popular  opinion  also  be- 
lieved that  Islington,  the  adopted  father,  who  re- 
ceived a  certain  stipend  ostensibly  for  the  boy's 
support,  retained  it  as  a  reward  for  his  reticence 
regarding  these  facts.  "  He  ain't  ruinin'  hisself 
by  wastin'  it  on  Tom,"  said  the  barkeeper,  who 


MBS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  9 

possibly  possessed  positive  knowledge  of  much 
of  Islington's  disbursements.  But  at  this  point 
exhausted  nature  languished  among  some  of  the 
debaters,  and  he  turned  from  the  frivolity  of  con- 
versation to  his  severer  professional  duties. 

It  was  also  well  that  Bill's  momentary  attitude 
of  didactic  propriety  was  not  further  excited  by 
the  subsequent  conduct  of  his  prottgt.  For  by 
this  time  Tom,  half  supporting  the  unstable  John- 
son, who  developed  a  tendency  to  occasionally  dash 
across  the  glaring  road,  but  checked  himself  mid- 
way each  time,  reached  the  corral  which  adjoined 
the  Mansion  House.  At  its  farther  extremity  was 
a  pump  and  horse-trough.  Here,  without  a  word 
being  spoken,  but  evidently  in  obedience  to  some 
habitual  custom,  Tom  led  his  companion.  With 
the  boy's  assistance,  Johnson  removed  his  coat  and 
neckcloth,  turned  back  the  collar  of  his  shirt,  and 
gravely  placed  his  head  beneath  the  pump-spout. 
With  equal  gravity  and  deliberation,  Tom  took  his 
place  at  the  handle.  For  a  few  moments  only  the 
splashing  of  water  and  regular  strokes  of  the  pump 
broke  the  solemnly  ludicrous  silence.  Then  there 
was  a  pause  in  which  Johnson  put  his  hands  to 
his  dripping  head,  felt  of  it  critically  as  if  it  be- 
longed to  somebody  else,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  his 
companion.  "That  ought  to  fetch  it"  said  Tom, 
in  answer  to  the  look.  "  Ef  it  don't,"  replied  John- 
son, doggedly,  with  an  air  of  relieving  himself  of 
i* 


10  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

all  further  responsibility  in  the  matter,  "  it 's  got 
to,  thet  's  all ! " 

If  "  it  "  referred  to  some  change  in  the  physiog- 
nomy of  Johnson, "  it "  had  probably  been  "  fetched  " 
by  the  process  just  indicated.  The  head  that  went 
under  the  pump  was  large,  and  clothed  with  bushy, 
uncertain-colored  hair ;  the  face  was  flushed,  puffy, 
and  expressionless,  the  eyes  injected  and  full.  The 
head  that  came  out  from  under  the  pump  was  of 
smaller  size  and  different  shape,  the  hair  straight, 
dark,  and  sleek,  the  face  pale  and  hollow-cheeked, 
the  eyes  bright  and  restless.  In  the  haggard,  ner- 
vous ascetic  that  rose  from  the  horse-trough  there 
was  very  little  trace  of  the  Bacchus  that  had  bowed 
there  a  moment  before.  Familiar  as  Tom  must 
have  been  with  the  spectacle,  he  could  not  help 
looking  inquiringly  at  the  trough,  as  if  expecting 
to  see  some  traces  of  the  previous  Johnson  in  its 
shallow  depths. 

A  narrow  strip  of  willow,  alder,  and  buckeye  — 
a  mere  dusty,  ravelled  fringe  of  the  green  mantle 
that  swept  the  high  shoulders  of  Table  Mountain 
—  lapped  the  edge  of  the  corral.  The  silent  pair 
were  quick  to  avail  themselves  of  even  its  scant 
shelter  from  the  overpowering  sun.  They  had  not 
proceeded  far,  before  Johnson,  who  was  walking 
quite  rapidly  in  advance,  suddenly  brought  him- 
self up,  and  turned  to  his  companion  with  an 
interrogative  "  Eh  ?  " 


MKS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  11 

"  I  did  n't  speak,"  said  Tommy,  quietly. 

"  Who  said  you  spoke  ? "  said  Johnson,  with  a 
quick  look  of  cunning.  "In  course  you  did  n't 
speak,  and  I  did  n't  speak,  neither.  Nobody  spoke. 
Wot  makes  you  think  you  spoke  ? "  he  continued, 
peering  curiously  into  Tommy's  eyes. 

The  smile  which  habitually  shone  there  quickly 
vanished  as  the  boy  stepped  quietly  to  his  com- 
panion's side,  and  took  his  arm  without  a  word. 

"In  course  you  did  n't  speak,  Tommy,"  said 
Johnson,  deprecatingly.  "  You  ain't  a  boy  to  go 
for  to  play  an  ole  soaker  like  me.  That 's  wot  I 
like  you  for.  Thet  's  wot  I  seed  in  you  from  the 
first.  I  sez,  '  Thet  'ere  boy  ain't  goin'  to  play  you, 
Johnson !  You  can  go  your  whole  pile  on  him, 
when  you  can't  trust  even  a  bar-keep.'  Thet 's 
wot  I  said.  Eh?" 

This  time  Tommy  prudently  took  no  notice  of 
the  interrogation,  and  Johnson  went  on:  "Ef  I 
was  to  ask  you  another  question,  you  would  n't 
go  to  play  me  neither,  —  would  you,  Tommy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Ef  I  was  to  ask  you,"  continued  Johnson,  with' 
out  heeding  the  reply,  but  with  a  growing  anxiety 
of  eye  and  a  nervous  twitching  of  his  lips,  —  "  ef  I 
was  to  ask  you,  fur  instance,  ef  that  was  a  jackass 
rabbit  thet  jest  passed, —  eh  ?  —  you  'd  say  it  was 
or  was  not,  ez  the  case  may  be.  You  would  n't 
play  the  ole  man  on  thet  ? " 


12  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

"  No,"  said  Tommy,  quietly,  "  it  was  a  jackass 
rabbit." 

"  Ef  I  was  to  ask  you,"  continued  Johnson,  "  ef 
it  wore,  say,  fur  instance,  a  green  hat  with  yaller 
ribbons,  you  would  n't  play  me,  and  say  it  did, 
onless,"  —  he  added,  with  intensified  cunning, — 
"  onless  it  did  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tommy,  "  of  course  I  would  n't ;  but 
then,  you  see,  it  did" 

"It  did?" 

"  It  did  ! "  repeated  Tommy,  stoutly ;  "  a  green 
hat  with  yellow  ribbons  —  and  —  and  —  a  red 
rosette." 

"I  didn't  get  to  see  the  ros-ette,"  said  John- 
son, with  slow  and  conscientious  deliberation,  yet 
with  an  evident  sense  of  relief;  "but  that  ain't 
sayin'  it  warn't  there,  you  know.  Eh  ?  " 

Tommy  glanced  quietly  at  his  companion.  There 
were  great  beads  of  perspiration  on  his  ashen-gray 
forehead  and  on  the  ends  of  his  lank  hair;  the 
hand  which  twitched  spasmodically  in  his  was 
cold  and  clammy,  the  other,  which  was  free,  had 
a  vague,  purposeless,  jerky  activity,  as  if  attached 
to  some  deranged  mechanism.  "Without  any  appar- 
ent concern  in  these  phenomena,  Tommy  halted, 
and,  seating  himself  on  a  log,  motioned  his  com- 
panion to  a  place  beside  him.  Johnson  obeyed 
without  a  word.  Slight  as  was  the  act,  perhaps 
no  other  incident  of  their  singular  companionship 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  13 

indicated  as  completely  the  dominance  of  this 
careless,  half  -  effeminate,  but  self-possessed  boy 
over  this  doggedly  self-willed,  abnormally  excited 
man. 

"  It  ain't  the  square  thing,"  said  Johnson,  after 
a  pause,  with  a  laugh  that  was  neither  mirthful 
nor  musical,  and  frightened  away  a  lizard  that  had 
been  regarding  the  pair  with  breathless  suspense, 
—  "  it  ain't  the  square  thing  for  jackass  rabbits 
to  wear  hats,  Tommy, — is  it,  eh?" 

"  Well,"  said  Tommy,  with  unmoved  composure, 
"  sometimes  they  do  and  sometimes  they  don't. 
Animals  are  mighty  queer."  And  here  Tommy 
went  off  in  an  animated,  but,  I  regret  to  say,  ut- 
terly untruthful  and  untrustworthy  account  of 
the  habits  of  California  fauna,  until  he  was  inter- 
rupted by  Johnson. 

"  And  snakes,  eh,  Tommy  ? "  said  the  man,  with 
an  abstracted  air,  gazing  intently  on  the  ground 
before  him. 

"And  snakes,"  said  Tommy;  "but  they  don't 
Lite,  —  at  least  not  that  kind  you  see.  There !  — 
don't  move,  Uncle  Ben,  don't  move ;  they  're  gone 
now.  And  it 's  about  time  you  took  your  dose." 

Johnson  had  hurriedly  risen  as  if  to  leap  upon 
the  log,  but  Tommy  had  as  quickly  caught  his 
arm  with  one  hand  while  he  drew  a  bottle  from 
his  pocket  with  the  other.  Johnson  paused,  and 
eyed  the  bottle.  "Ef  you  say  so,  my  boy,"  he 


14  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

faltered,  as  his  fingers  closed  nervously  around  it ; 
*l  say  '  when/  then."  He  raised  the  bottle  to  his 
lips  and  took  a  long  draught,  the  boy  regarding 
him  critically.  "When,"  said  Tommy,  suddenly. 
Johnson  started,  flushed,  and  returned  the  bottle 
quickly.  But  the  color  that  had  risen  to  his  cheek 
stayed  there,  his  eye  grew  less  restless,  and  as  they 
moved  away  again,  the  hand  that  rested  on  Tom- 
my's shoulder  was  steadier. 

Their  way  lay  along  the  flank  of  Table  Moun- 
tain, —  a  wandering  trail  through  a  tangled  soli- 
tude that  might  have  seemed  virgin  and  unbroken 
but  for  a  few  oyster-cans,  yeast-powder  tins,  and 
empty  bottles  that  had  been  apparently  stranded 
by  the  "  first  low  wash  "  of  pioneer  waves.  On 
the  ragged  trunk  of  an  enormous  pine  hung  a  few 
tufts  of  gray  hair  caught  from  a  passing  grizzly, 
but  in  strange  juxtaposition  at  its  foot  lay  an 
empty  bottle  of  incomparable  bitters,  —  the  chef- 
d'oeuvre  of  a  hygienic  civilization,  and  blazoned 
with  the  arms  of  an  all-healing  republic.  The 
head  of  a  rattlesnake  peered  from  a  case  that  had 
contained  tobacco,  which  was  still  brightly  pla- 
carded with  the  high-colored  effigy  of  a  popular 
danseuse.  And  a  little  beyond  this  the  soil  was 
broken  and  fissured,  there  was  a  confused  mass  of 
roughly  hewn  timber,  a  straggling  line  of  sluicing, 
a  heap  of  gravel  and  dirt,  a  rude  cabin,  and  the 
claim  of  Johnson. 


MBS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  15 

Except  for  the  rudest  purposes  of  shelter  from 
rain  and  cold,  the  cabin  possessed  but  little  ad- 
vantage over  the  simple  savagery  of  surrounding 
nature.  It  had  all  the  practical  directness  of  the 
habitation  of  some  animal,  without  its  comfort  or 
picturesque  quality ;  the  very  birds  that  haunted 
it  for  food  must  have  felt  their  own  superiority  as 
architects.  It  was  inconceivably  dirty,  even  with 
its  scant  capacity  for  accretion ;  it  was  singularly 
stale,  even  in  its  newness  and  freshness  of  material. 
Unspeakably  dreary  as  it  was  in  shadow,  the  sun- 
light visited  it  in  a  blind,  aching,  purposeless  way, 
as  if  despairing  of  mellowing  its  outlines  or  of 
even  tanning  it  into  color. 

The  claim  worked  by  Johnson  in  his  intervals 
of  sobriety  was  represented  by  half  a  dozen  rude 
openings  in  the  mountain-side,  with  the  heaped- 
up  debris  of  rock  and  gravel  before  the  mouth  of 
each.  They  gave  very  little  evidence  of  engineer-- 
ing skill  or  constructive  purpose,  or  indeed  showed 
anything  but  the  vague,  successively  abandoned 
essays  of  their  projector.  To-day  they  served 
another  purpose,  for  as  the  sun  had  heated  the 
little  cabin  almost  to  the  point  of  combustion, 
curling  up  the  long  dry  shingles,  and  starting  aro- 
matic tears  from  the  green  pine  beams,  Tommy  led 
Johnson  into  one  of  the  larger  openings,  and  with 
a  sense  of  satisfaction  threw  himself  panting  upon 
its  rocky  floor.  Here  and  there  the  grateful  damp- 


16  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

ness  was  condensed  in  quiet  pools  of  water,  or  in 
a  monotonous  and  soothing  drip  from  the  rocks 
above.  Without  lay  the  staring  sunlight,  —  color- 
less, clarified,  intense. 

For  a  few  moments  they  lay  resting  on  their 
elbows  in  blissful  contemplation  of  the  heat  they 
had  escaped.  "Wot  do  you  say,"  said  Johnson, 
slowly,  without  looking  at  his  companion,  but  ab- 
stractly addressing  himself  to  the  landscape  be- 
yond,—  "wot  do  you  say  to  two  straight  games 
fur  one  thousand  dollars  ? " 

"  Make  it  five  thousand,"  replied  Tommy,  reflec- 
tively, also  to  the  landscape,  "  and  I  'm  in." 

"  Wot  do  I  owe  you  now  ? "  said  Johnson,  after 
a  lengthened  silence. 

"One  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars,"  replied  Tommy,  with 
business-like  gravity. 

"  Well,"  said  Johnson,  after  a  deliberation  com- 
mensurate with  the  magnitude  of  the  transaction, 
"  ef  you  win,  call  it  a  hundred  and  eighty  thou- 
sand, round.  War 's  the  keerds  ? " 

They  were  in  an  old  tin  box  in  a  crevice  of  a 
rock  above  his  head.  They  were  greasy  and  worn 
with  service.  Johnson  dealt,  albeit  his  right  hand 
was  still  uncertain,  —  hovering,  after  dropping  the 
cards,  aimlessly  about  Tommy,  and  being  only  re- 
called by  a  strong  nervous  effort.  Yet,  notwith- 
standing this  incapacity  for  even  honest  manipu- 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  17 

lation,  Mr.  Johnson  covertly  turned  a  knave  from 
the  bottom  of  the  pack  with  such  shameless  in- 
efficiency and  gratuitous  unskilfulness,  that  even 
Tommy  was  obliged  to  cough  and  look  elsewhere 
to  hide  his  embarrassment.  Possibly  for  this  rea- 
son the  young  gentleman  was  himself  constrained, 
by  way  of  correction,  to  add  a  valuable  card  to  his 
own  hand,  over  and  above  the  number  he  legiti- 
mately held. 

Nevertheless,  the  game  was  unexciting,  and 
dragged  listlessly.  Johnson  won.  He  recorded 
the  fact  and  the  amount  with  a  stub  of  pencil  and 
shaking  fingers  in  wandering  hieroglyphics  all  over 
a  pocket  diary.  Then  there  was  a  long  pause, 
when  Johnson  slowly  drew  something  from  his 
pocket,  and  held  it  up  before  his  companion.  It 
was  apparently  a  dull  red  stone. 

"  Ef,"  said  Johnson,  slowly,  with  his  old  look  of 
simple  cunning,  —  "ef  you  happened  to  pick  up 
sich  a  rock  ez  that,  Tommy,  what  might  you  say 
it  was?" 

"  Don't  know,"  said  Tommy. 

"  Might  n't  you  say,"  continued  Johnson,  cau- 
tiously, "  that  it  was  gold,  or  silver  ? " 

"  Neither,"  said  Tommy,  promptly. 

"  Might  n't  you  say  it  was  quicksilver  ?  Might 
n't  you  say  that  ef  thar  was  a  friend  o'  yourn  ez 
knew  war  to  go  and  turn  out  ten  ton  of  it  a  day, 
and  every  ton  worth  two  thousand  dollars,  that  he 


18  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

had  a  soft  thing,  a  very  soft  thing,  —  allowin',  Tom- 
my, that  you  used  sich  language,  which  you  don't  ? " 

"  But,"  said  the  boy,  coming  to  the  point  with 
great  directness,  "  do  you  know  where  to  get  it  ? 
have  you  struck  it,  Uncle  Ben  ? " 

Johnson  looked  carefully  around.  "I  hev, 
Tommy.  Listen.  I  know  whar  thar  's  cartloads 
of  it.  But  thar 's  only  one  other  specimen  —  the 
mate  to  this  yer  —  thet  's  above  ground,  and  thet  's 
in  'Frisco.  Thar 's  an  agint  comin'  up  in  a  day  or 
two  to  look  into  it.  I  sent  for  him.  Eh  ? " 

His  bright,  restless  eyes  were  concentrated  on 
Tommy's  face  now,  but  the  boy  showed  neither 
surprise  nor  interest.  Least  of  all  did  he  betray 
any  recollection  of  Bill's  ironical  and  gratuitous 
corroboration  of  this  part  of  the  story. 

"Nobody  knows  it,"  continued  Johnson,  in  a 
nervous  whisper,  —  "  nobody  knows  it  but  you  and 
the  agint  in  'Frisco.  The  boys  workin'  round  yar 
passes  by  and  sees  the  old  man  grubbin'  away,  and 
no  signs  o'  color,  not  even  rotten  quartz  ;  the  boys 
loafin'  round  the  Mansion  House  sees  the  old  man 
lyin'  round  free  in  bar-rooms,  and  they  laughs 
and  sez, '  Played  out,'  and  spects  nothin'.  Maybe 
ye  think  they  spects  suthin  now,  eh  ? "  queried 
Johnson,  suddenly,  with  a  sharp  look  of  suspicion. 

Tommy  looked  up,  shook  his  head,  threw  a  stone 
at  a  passing  rabbit,  but  did  not  reply. 

"  When  I  fust  set  eyes  on  you,  Tommy,"  contin- 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  19 

ued  Johnson,  apparently  reassured,  "  the  fust  day 
you  kem  and  pumped  for  me,  an  entire  stranger, 
and  hevin  no  call  to  do  it,  I  sez, '  Johnson,  John- 
son,' sez  I, '  yer  's  a  boy  you  kin  trust.  Yer  's  a  boy 
that  won't  play  you;  yer's  a  chap  that's  white 
and  square,'  —  white  and  square,  Tommy :  them 's 
the  very  words  I  used." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  in 
a  confidential  whisper,  " '  You  want  capital,  John- 
son,' sez  I,  'to  develop  your  resources,  and  you 
want  a  pardner.  Capital  you  can  send  for,  but 
your  pardner,  Johnson,  —  your  pardner  is  right 
yer.  And  his  name,  it  is  Tommy  Islington.' 
Them  's  the  very  words  I  used." 

He  stopped  and  chafed  his  clammy  hands  upon 
his  knees.  "  It 's  six  months  ago  sens  I  made  you 
my  pardner.  Thar  ain't  a  lick  I  've  struck  sens 
then,  Tommy,  thar  ain't  a  han'ful  o'  yearth  I  Ve 
washed,  thar  ain't  a  shovelful  o*  rock  I  've  turned 
over,  but  I  tho't  o'  you.  '  Share,  and  share  alike/ 
sez  I.  When  I  wrote  to  my  agint,  I  wrote  ekal 
for  my  pardner,  Tommy  Islington,  he  hevin  no 
call  to  know  ef  the  same  was  man  or  boy." 

He  had  moved  nearer  the  boy,  and  would  per- 
haps have  laid  his  hand  caressingly  upon  him,  but 
even  in  his  manifest  affection  there  was  a  singular 
element  of  awed  restraint  and  even  fear,  —  a  sug- 
gestion of  something  withheld  even  his  fullest  con- 
fidences, a  hopeless  perception  of  some  vague  bar- 


20  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

rier  that  never  could  be  surmounted.  He  may 
have  been  at  times  dimly  conscious  that,  in  the 
eyes  which  Tommy  raised  to  his,  there  was  thor- 
ough intellectual  appreciation,  critical  good-humor, 
even  feminine  softness,  but  nothing  more.  His 
nervousness  somewhat  heightened  by  his  embar- 
rassment, he  went  on  with  an  attempt  at  calmness 
which  his  twitching  white  lips  and  unsteady  fin- 
gers made  pathetically  grotesque.  "  Thar 's  a  bill 
o'  sale  in  my  bunk,  made  out  accordin'  to  law,  of 
an  ekal  ondivided  half  of  the  claim,  and  the  con- 
sideration is  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars,—  gambling  debts,  —  gambling  debts  from  me 
to  you,  Tommy,  —  you  understand  ? "  —  nothing 
could  exceed  the  intense  cunning  of  his  eye  at 
this  moment, —  "and  then  thar's  a  will." 

"  A  will  ?  "  said  Tommy,  in  amused  surprise. 

Johnson  looked  frightened. 

"  Eh  ?  "  he  said,  hurriedly,  "  wot  will  ?  Who 
said  anythin'  'bout  a  will,  Tommy  ? " 

"Nobody,"  replied  Tommy, with  unblushing  calm. 

Johnson  passed  his  hand  over  his  cold  forehead, 
wrung  the  damp  ends  of  his  hair  with  his  fingers, 
and  went  on :  "  Times  when  I  'm  took  bad  ez  I 
was  to-day,  the  boys  about  yer  sez  —  you  sez, 
maybe,  Tommy  —  it 's  whiskey.  It  ain't,  Tommy. 
It 's  pizen,  —  quicksilver  pizen.  That 's  what 's 
the  matter  with  me.  I  'm  salviated  1  Salviated 
with  merkery. 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  21 

"  I  've  heerd  o'  it  before,"  continued  Johnson, 
appealing  to  the  boy,  "  and  ez  a  boy  o'  permiskus 
reading,  I  reckon  you  hev  too.  Them  men  as 
works  in  cinnabar  sooner  or  later  gets  salviated. 
It 's  bound  to  fetch  'em  some  time.  Salviated  by 
merkery." 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do  for  it  ? "  asked  Tom- 
my. 

"  When  the  agint  comes  up,  and  I  begins  to 
realize  on  this  yer  mine/'  said  Johnson,  contem- 
platively, "  I  goes  to  New  York.  I  sez  to  the 
barkeep*  o'  the  hotel, '  Show  me  the  biggest  doc- 
tor here.'  He  shows  me.  I  sez  to  him, '  Salviated 
by  merkery,  —  a  year's  standing  —  how  much  ? ' 
He  sez,  'Five  thousand  dollars,  and  take  two  o' 
these  pills  at  bedtime,  and  an  ekil  number  o'  pow- 
ders at  meals,  and  come  back  in  a  week/  And  I 
goes  back  in  a  week,  cured,  and  signs  a  certifikit  to 
that  effect." 

Encouraged  by  a  look  of  interest  in  Tommy's 
eye,  he  went  on. 

"  So  I  gets  cured.  I  goes  to  the  barkeep',  and 
I  sez,  '  Show  me  the  biggest,  fashionblest  house 
thet  's  for  sale  yer.'  And  he  sez,  '  The  biggest, 
nat'rally  b'longs  to  John  Jacob  Astor.'  And  I 
sez, '  Show  him,'  and  he  shows  him.  And  I  sez, 
'  Wot  might  you  ask  for  this  yer  house  ? '  And  he 
looks  at  me  scornful,  and  sez,  'Go  'way,  old  man; 
you  must  be  sick.'  And  I  fetches  him  one  over 


22  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

the  left  eye,  and  he  apologizes,  and  I  gives  him 
his  own  price  for  the  house.  I  stocks  that  house 
with  mohogany  furniture  and  pervisions,  and  thar 
we  lives,  —  you  and  me,  Tommy,  you  and  me ! " 

The  sun  no  longer  shone  upon  the  hillside.  The 
shadows  of  the  pines  were  beginning  to  creep  over 
Johnson's  claim,  and  the  air  within  the  cavern 
was  growing  chill.  In  the  gathering  darkness 
nis  eyes  shone  brightly  as  he  went  on :  "  Then 
thar  comes  a  day  when  we  gives  a  big  spread. 
We  invites  govners,  members  o'  Congress,  gen- 
tlemen o'  fashion,  and  the  like.  And  among 
'em  I  invites  a  Man  as  holds  his  head  very  high, 
*  Man  I  once  knew ;  but  he  does  n't  know  I 
knows  him,  and  he  does  n't  remember  me.  And 
he  comes  and  he  sits  opposite  me,  and  I  watches 
him.  And  he  's  very  airy,  this  Man,  and  very 
chipper,  and  he  wipes  his  mouth  with  a  white 
hankercher,  and  he  smiles,  and  he  ketches  my  eye. 
And  he  sez, '  A  glass  o'  wine  with  you,  Mr.  John- 
son ' ;  and  he  fills  his  glass  and  I  fills  mine,  and 
we  rises.  And  I  heaves  that  wine,  glass  and  all, 
right  into  his  damned  grinnin'  face.  And  he 
jumps  for  me,  —  for  he  is  very  game,  this  Man, 
very  game,  —  but  some  on  'em  grabs  him,  and  he 
Bez, '  Who  be  you  ? '  And  I  sez, '  Skaggs  !  damn 
you,  Skaggs  !  Look  at  me  !  Gimme  back  my 
wife  and  child,  gimme  back  the  money  you  stole, 
gimme  back  the  good  name  you  took  away,  gimme 


MBS,   SKAGOS'S  HUSBANDS.  23 

back  the  health  you  ruined,  gimme  back  the  last 
twelve  years  !  Give  'em  to  me,  damn  you,  quick, 
before  I  cuts  your  heart  out!'  And  naterally, 
Tommy,  he  can't  do  it.  And  so  I  cuts  his  heart 
out,  my  boy ;  I  cuts  his  heart  out." 

The  purely  animal  fury  of  his  eye  suddenly 
changed  again  to  cunning.  "You  think  they 
hangs  me  for  it,  Tommy,  but  they  don't.  Not 
much,  Tommy.  I  goes  to  the  biggest  lawyer  there, 
and  I  says  to  him,  '  Salviated  by  merkery,  —  you 
hear  me,  —  salviated  by  merkery.'  And  he  winks 
at  me,  and  he  goes  to  the  judge,  and  he  sez,  '  This 
yer  unfortnet  man  is  n't  responsible,  —  he 's  been 
salviated  by  merkery.'  And  he  brings  witnesses ; 
you  comes,  Tommy,  and  you  sez  ez  how  you've 
seen  me  took  bad  afore ;  and  the  doctor,  he  comes, 
and  he  sez  as  how  he's  seen  me  frightful;  and 
the  jury,  without  leavin'  their  seats,  brings  in  a 
verdict  o'  justifiable  insanity,  —  salviated  by  mer- 
kery." 

In  the  excitement  of  his  climax  he  had  risen  to 
his  feet,  but  would  have  fallen  had  not  Tommy 
caught  him  and  led  him  into  the  open  air.  In 
this  sharper  light  there  was  an  odd  change  visible 
in  his  yellow- white  face,  —  a  change  which  caused 
Tommy  to  hurriedly  support  him,  half  leading,  half 
dragging  him  toward  the  little  cabin.  When  they 
had  reached  it,  Tommy  placed  him  on  a  rude 
"  bunk,"  or  shelf,  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  anx- 


24  MBS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

ious  contemplation  of  the  tremor-stricken  man  be- 
fore him.  Then  he  said  rapidly :  "  Listen,  Uncle 
Ben.  I  'm  goin'  to  town  —  to  town,  you  under- 
stand—  for  the  doctor.  You're  not  to  get  up 
or  move  on  any  account  until  I  return.  Do  you 
hear  ? "  Johnson  nodded  violently.  "  I  '11  be  back 
in  two  hours."  In  another  moment  he  was  gone. 

For  an  hour  Johnson  kept  his  word.  Then  he 
suddenly  sat  up,  and  began  to  gaze  fixedly  at  a 
corner  of  the  cabin.  From  gazing  at  it  he  began 
to  smile,  from  smiling  at  it  he  began  to  talk,  from 
talking  at  it  he  began  to  scream,  from  screaming 
he  passed  to  cursing  and  sobbing  wildly.  Then 
he  lay  quiet  again. 

He  was  so  still  that  to  merely  human  eyes  he 
might  have  seemed  asleep  or  dead.  But  a  squir- 
rel, that,  emboldened  by  the  stillness,  had  entered 
from  the  roof,  stopped  short  upon  a  beam  above 
the  bunk,  for  he  saw  that  the  man's  foot  was 
slowly  and  cautiously  moving  toward  the  floor, 
and  that  the  man's  eyes  were  as  intent  and  watch- 
ful as  his  own.  Presently,  still  without  a  sound, 
both  feet  were  upon  the  floor.  And  then  the 
bunk  creaked,  and  the  squirrel  whisked  into  the 
eaves  of  the  roof.  When  he  peered  forth  again, 
everything  was  quiet,  and  the  man  was  gone. 

An  hour  later  two  muleteers  on  the  Placerville 
Boad  passed  a  man  with  dishevelled  hair,  glaring, 
bloodshot  eyes,  and  clothes  torn  with  bramble  and 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  25 

stained  with  the  red  dust  of  the  mountain.  They 
pursued  him,  when  he  turned  fiercely  on  the  fore- 
most, wrested  a  pistol  from  his  grasp,  and  broke 
away.  Later  still,  when  the  sun  had  dropped  be- 
hind Payne's  Ridge,  the  underbrush  on  Deadwood 
Slope  crackled  with  a  stealthy  but  continuous 
tread.  It  must  have  been  an  animal  whose  dimly 
outlined  bulk,  in  the  gathering  darkness,  showed 
here  and  there  in  vague  but  incessant  motion ;  it 
could  be  nothing  but  an  animal  whose  utterance 
was  at  once  so  incoherent,  monotonous,  and  unre- 
mitting. Yet,  when  the  sound  came  nearer,  and 
the  chaparral  was  parted,  it  seemed  to  be  a  man, 
and  that  man  Johnson. 

Above  the  baying  of  phantasmal  hounds  that 
pressed  him  hard  and  drove  him  on,  with  never 
rest  or  mercy ;  above  the  lashing  of  a  spectral  whip 
that  curled  about  his  limbs,  sang  in  his  ears,  and 
continually  stung  him  forward ;  above  the  outcries 
of  the  unclean  shapes  that  thronged  about  him,  — 
he  could  still  distinguish  one  real  sound,  —  the 
rush  and  sweep  of  hurrying  waters.  The  Stanis- 
laus River !  A  thousand  feet  below  him  drove  its 
yellowing  current.  Through  all  the  vacillations  of 
his  unseated  mind  he  had  clung  to  one  idea,  —  to 
reach  the  river,  to  lave  in  it,  to  swim  it  if  need  be, 
but  to  put  it  forever  between  him  and  the  harry- 
ing shapes,  to  drown  forever  in  its  tuibid  depths 
the  thronging  spectres,  to  wash  away  in  its  yel- 


26  MBS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

low  flood  all  stains  and  color  of  the  past.  And 
now  he  was  leaping  from  boulder  to  boulder,  from 
blackened  stump  to  stump,  from  gnarled  bush  to 
bush,  caught  for  a  moment  and  withheld  by  cling- 
ing vines,  or  plunging  downward  into  dusty  hollows, 
until,  rolling,  dropping,  sliding,  and  stumbling,  he 
reached  the  river-bank,  whereon  he  fell,  rose,  stag- 
gered forward,  and  fell  again  with  outstretched 
arms  upon  a  rock  that  breasted  the  swift  current. 
And  there  he  lay  as  dead. 

A  few  stars  came  out  hesitatingly  above  Dead- 
wood  Slope.  A  cold  wind  that  had  sprung  up 
with  the  going  down  of  the  sun  fanned  them  into 
momentary  brightness,  swept  the  heated  flanks  of 
the  mountain,  and  ruffled  the  river.  Where  the 
fallen  man  lay  there  was  a  sharp  curve  in  the 
stream,  so  that  In  the  gathering  shadows  the  rush- 
ing water  seemed  to  leap  out  of  the  darkness  and 
to  vanish  again.  Decayed  drift-wood,  trunks  of 
trees,  fragments  of  broken  sluicing,  —  the  wash 
and  waste  of  many  a  mile,  —  swept  into  sight  a 
moment,  and  were  gone.  All  of  decay,  wreck,  and 
foulness  gathered  in  the  long  circuit  of  mining- 
camp  and  settlement,  all  the  dregs  and  refuse  of 
a  crude  and  wanton  civilization,  reappeared  for 
an  instant,  and  then  were  hurried  away  in  the 
darkness  and  lost.  No  wonder  that  as  the  wind 
ruffled  the  yellow  waters  the  waves  seemed  to  lift 
their  unclean  hands  toward  the  rock  whereon  the 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  27 

fallen  man  lay,  as  if  eager  to  snatch  him  from  it, 
too,  and  hurry  him  toward  the  sea. 

It  was  very  still.  In  the  clear  air  a  horn  blown 
a  mile  away  was  heard  distinctly.  The  jingling 
of  a  spur  and  a  laugh  on  the  highway  over  Payne's 
Ridge  sounded  clearly  across  the  river.  The  rat- 
tling of  harness  and  hoofs  foretold  for  many  min- 
utes the  approach  of  the  Wingdam  coach,  that  at 
last,  with  flashing  lights,  passed  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  rock.  Then  for  an  hour  all  again  was 
quiet.  Presently  the  moon,  round  and  full,  lifted 
herself  above  the  serried  ridge  and  looked  down 
upon  the  river.  At  first  the  bared  peak  of  Dead- 
wood  Hill  gleamed  white  and  skull-like.  Then 
the  shadows  of  Payne's  Ridge  cast  on  the  slope 
slowly  sank  away,  leaving  the  unshapely  stumps, 
the  dusty  fissures,  and  clinging  outcrop  of  Dead- 
wood  Slope  to  stand  out  in  black  and  silver.  Still 
stealing  softly  downward,  the  moonlight  touched 
the  bank  and  the  rock,  and  then  glittered  brightly 
on  the  river.  The  rock  was  bare  and  the  man  was 
gone,  but  the  river  still  hurried  swiftly  to  the  sea. 

"  Is  there  anything  for  me  ? "  asked  Tommy 
Islington,  as,  a  week  after,  the  stage  drew  up  at  the 
Mansion  House,  and  Bill  slowly  entered  the  bar- 
room. Bill  did  not  reply,  but,  turning  to  a  stran- 
ger who  had  entered  with  him,  indicated  with  a 
jerk  of  his  finger  the  boy.  The  stranger  turned 


28  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

with  an  air  half  of  business,  half  of  curiosity,  and 
looked  critically  at  Tommy.  "  Is  there  anything 
for  me  ? "  repeated  Tommy,  a  little  confused  at  the 
silence  and  scrutiny.  Bill  walked  deliberately  to 
the  bar,  and,  placing  his  back  against  it,  faced 
Tommy  with  a  look  of  demure  enjoyment. 

"Ef,"  he  remarked  slowly,  — "ef  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars  down  and  half  a  million  in  per- 
spektive  is  enny thing,  Major,  THERE  is ! " 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

PAKT   II.  —  EAST. 

IT  was  characteristic  of  Angel's  that  the  disap- 
pearance of  Johnson,  and  the  fact  that  he  had 
left  his  entire  property  to  Tommy,  thrilled  the 
community  but  slightly  in  comparison  with  the 
astounding  discovery  that  he  had  anything  to 
leave.  The  finding  of  a  cinnabar  lode  at  Angel's 
absorbed  all  collateral  facts  or  subsequent  details. 
Prospectors  from  adjoining  camps  thronged  the 
settlement ;  the  hillside  for  a  mile  on  either  side 
of  Johnson's  claim  was  staked  out  and  pre-empted ; 
trade  received  a  sudden  stimulus ;  and,  in  the  ex- 
cited rhetoric  of  the  "  Weekly  Eecord,"  "  a  new  era 
had  broken  upon  Angel's."  "  On  Thursday  last," 
added  that  paper,  "  over  five  hundred  dollars  was 
taken  in  over  the  bar  of  the  Mansion  House." 

Of  the  fate  of  Johnson  there  was  little  doubt. 
He  had  been  last  seen  lying  on  a  boulder  on  the 
river-bank  by  outside  passengers  of  the  Wingdam 
night  coach,  and  when  Finn  of  Eobinson's  Ferry 
admitted  to  have  fired  three  shots  from  a  revolver 
at  a  dark  object  struggling  in  the  water  near  the 
ferry,  which  he  "  suspicioned "  to  be  a  bear,  the 


30  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

question  seemed  to  be  settled.  Whatever  might 
have  been  the  fallibility  of  his  judgment,  of  the 
accuracy  of  his  aim  there  could  be  no  doubt.  The 
general  belief  that  Johnson,  after  possessing  him- 
self of  the  muleteer's  pistol,  could  have  run  amuck, 
gave  a  certain  retributive  justice  to  this  story,  which 
rendered  it  acceptable  to  the  camp. 

It  was  also  characteristic  of  Angel's  that  no 
feeling  of  envy  or  opposition  to  the  good  fortune 
of  Tommy  Islington  prevailed  there.  That  he  was 
thoroughly  cognizant,  from  the  first,  of  Johnson's 
discovery,  that  his  attentions  to  him  were  interested, 
calculating,  and  speculative  was,  however,  the  gen- 
eral belief  of  the  majority,  —  a  belief  that,  singu- 
larly enough,  awakened  the  first  feelings  of  genuine 
respect  for  Tommy  ever  shown  by  the  camp.  "  He 
ain't  no  fool ;  Yuba  Bill  seed  thet  from  the  first," 
said  the  barkeeper.  It  was  Yuba  Bill  who  applied 
for  the  guardianship  of  Tommy  after  his  accession 
to  Johnson's  claim,  and  on  whose  bonds  the  richest 
men  of  Calaveras  were  represented.  It  was  Yuba 
Bill,  also,  when  Tommy  was  sent  East  to  finish  his 
education,  accompanied  him  to  San  Francisco,  and, 
before  parting  with  his  charge  on  the  steamer's 
deck,  drew  him  aside,  and  said,  "Ef  at  enny  time 
you  want  enny  money,  Tommy,  over  and  'bove  your 
'lowance,  you  kin  write ;  but  ef  you  '11  take  my 
advice,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden  huskiness  mitigat- 
ing the  severity  of  his  voice,  "  you  11  forget  every 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  31 

derned  ole  spavined,  string-halted  bummer  as  you 
ever  met  or  knew  at  Angel's,  —  ev'ry  one,  Tommy, 
—  ev'ry  one !  And  so —  boy  —  take  care  of  your- 
self—  and — and  —  God  bless  ye,  and  pertikerly 
d — n  me  for  a  first-class  A  1  fool."  It  was 
Yuba  Bill,  also,  after  this  speech,  glared  savagely 
around,  walked  down  the  crowded  gang-plank 
with  a  rigid  and  aggressive  shoulder,  picked  a 
quarrel  with  his  cabman,  and,  after  bundling  that 
functionary  into  his  own  vehicle,  took  the  reins 
himself,  and  drove  furiously  to  his  hotel  "  It  cost 
me,"  said  Bill,  recounting  the  occurrence  somewhat 
later  at  Angel's,  —  "  it  cost  me  a  matter  o'  twenty 
dollars  afore  the  jedge  the  next  mornin' ;  but  you 
kin  bet  high  thet  I  taught  them  Trisco  chaps 
suthin  new  about  drivin'.  I  did  n't  make  it  lively 
in  Montgomery  Street  for  about  ten  minutes, — 
O  no  ! " 

And  so  by  degrees  the  two  original  locaters  of 
the  great  Cinnabar  Lode  faded  from  the  memory 
of  Angel's,  and  Calaveras  knew  them  no  more.  In 
five  years  their  very  names  had  been  forgotten; 
in  seven  the  name  of  the  town  was  changed ;  in 
ten  the  town  itself  was  transported  bodily  to  the 
hillside,  and  the  chimney  of  the  Union  Smelting 
Works  by  night  flickered  like  a  corpse-light  over 
the  site  of  Johnson's  cabin,  and  by  day  poisoned 
the  pure  spices  of  the  pines.  Even  the  Mansion 
House  was  dismantled,  and  the  Wingdam  stage 


TO 


32  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

deserted  the  highway  for  a  shorter  cut  by  Quick- 
silver City.  Only  the  bared  crest  of  Deadwood 
Hill,  as  of  old,  sharply  cut  the  clear  blue  sky,  and 
at  its  base,  as  of  old,  the  Stanislaus  Eiver,  un- 
wearied and  unresting,  babbled,  whispered,  and 
hurried  away  to  the  sea. 

A  midsummer's  day  was  breaking  lazily  on  the 
Atlantic.  There  was  not  wind  enough  to  move 
the  vapors  in  the  foggy  offing,  but  where  the  vague 
distance  heaved  against  a  violet  sky  there  were 
dull  red  streaks  that,  growing  brighter,  presently 
painted  out  the  stars.  Soon  the  brown  rocks  of 
Greyport  appeared  faintly  suffused,  and  then  the 
whole  ashen  line  of  dead  coast  was  kindled,  and 
the  lighthouse  beacons  went  out  one  by  one. 
And  then  a  hundred  sail,  before  invisible,  started 
out  of  the  vapory  horizon,  and  pressed  toward  the 
shore.  It  was  morning,  indeed,  and  some  of  the 
best  society  in  Greyport,  having  been  up  all  night, 
were  thinking  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed. 

For  as  the  sky  flashed  brighter  it  fired  the  clus- 
tering red  roofs  of  a  picturesque  house  by  the  sands 
that  had  all  that  night,  from  open  lattice  and  illu- 
minated balcony,  given  light  and  music  to  the 
shore.  It  glittered  on  the  broad  crystal  spaces  of 
a  great  conservatory  that  looked  upon  an  exquisite 
lawn,  where  all  night  long  the  blended  odors  of 
sea  and  shore  had  swooned  under  the  summer 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  33 

moon.  But  it  wrought  confusion  among  the 
colored  lamps  on  the  long  veranda,  and  startled 
a  group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  had  stepped 
from  the  drawing-room  window  to  gaze  upon  it. 
It  was  so  searching  and  sincere  in  its  way,  that,  as 
the  carriage  of  the  fairest  Miss  Gillyflower  rolled 
away,  that  peerless  young  woman,  catching  sight 
of  her  face  in  the  oval  mirror,  instantly  pulled 
down  the  blinds,  and,  nestling  the  whitest  shoulders 
in  Greyport  against  the  crimson  cushions,  went  to 
eleep. 

"  How  haggard  everybody  is !  Rose,  dear,  you 
look  almost  intellectual,"  said  Blanche  Masterman. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Rose,  simply.  "  Sunrises  are 
very  trying.  Look  how  that  pink  regularly  puts 
out  Mrs.  Brown-Robinson,  hair  and  all ! " 

"  The  angels,"  said  the  Count  de  Nugat,  with  a 
polite  gesture  toward  the  sky,  "must  have  find 
these  celestial  combinations  very  bad  for  the  toi- 
lette." 

"They  're  safe  in  white, — except  when  they  sit 
for  their  pictures  in  Venice,"  said  Blanche.  "  How 
fresh  Mr.  Islington  looks !  It 's  really  uncompli- 
mentary to  us." 

"  I  suppose  the  sun  recognizes  in  me  no  rival," 
said  the  young  man,  demurely.  "  But,"  he  added, 
"  I  have  lived  much  in  the  open  air,  and  require 
very  little  sleep." 

"  How  delightful ! "  said  Mrs.  Brown-Robinson, 

**  a 


34  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

in  a  low,  enthusiastic  voice,  and  a  manner  that  held 
the  glowing  sentiment  of  sixteen  and  the  practical 
experiences  of  thirty-two  in  dangerous  combination; 
—  "  how  perfectly  delightful !  What  sunrises  you 
must  have  seen,  and  in  such  wild,  romantic  places ! 
How  I  envy  you !  My  nephew  was  a  classmate 
of  yours,  and  has  often  repeated  to  me  those  charm- 
ing stories  you  tell  of  your  adventures.  Won't 
you  tell  some  now  ?  Do  !  How  you  must  tire  of 
us  and  this  artificial  life  here,  so  frightfully  arti- 
ficial, you  know  "  (in  a  confidential  whisper) ;  "  and 
then  to  think  of  the  days  when  you  roamed  the 
great  West  with  the  Indians,  and  the  bisons,  and 
the  grizzly  bears  !  Of  course,  you  have  seen  griz- 
zly bears  and  bisons  ? " 

"  Of  course  he  has,  dear,"  said  Blanche,  a  little 
pettishly,  throwing  a  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  and 
seizing  her  chaperon  by  the  arm ;  "  his  earliest  in- 
fancy was  soothed  by  bisons,  and  he  proudly  points 
to  the  grizzly  bear  as  the  playmate  of  his  youth. 
Come  with  me,  and  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it.  How 
good  it  is  of  you,"  she  added,  sotto  voce,  to  Islington, 
as  he  stood  by  the  carriage,  —  "  how  perfectly  good 
it  is  of  you  to  be  like  those  animals  you  tell  us  of, 
and  not  know  your  full  power.  Think,  with  your 
experiences  and  our  credulity,  what  stories  you 
might  tell !  And  you  are  going  to  walk  ?  Good 
night,  then."  A  slim,  gloved  hand  was  frankly  ex- 
tended from  the  window,  and  the  next  moment  the 
carriage  rolled  away. 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  35 

"Is  n't  Islington  throwing  away  a  chance  there  ? " 
said  Captain  Merwin,  on  the  veranda. 

"  Perhaps  he  could  n't  stand  my  lovely  aunt's 
superadded  presence.  But  then,  he's  the  guest 
of  Blanche's  father,  and  I  dare  say  they  see  enough 
of  each  other  as  it  is." 

"  But  is  n't  it  a  rather  dangerous  situation  ? " 

"  For  him,  perhaps ;  although  he  's  awfully 
old,  and  very  queer.  For  her,  with  an  experience 
that  takes  in  all  the  available  men  in  both  hemi- 
spheres, ending  with  Nugat  over  there,  I  should 
say  a  man  more  or  less  would  n't  affect  her  much, 
anyway.  Of  course,"  he  laughed,  "  these  are  the 
accents  of  bitterness.  But  that  was  last  year." 

Perhaps  Islington  did  not  overhear  the  speaker ; 
perhaps,  if  he  did,  the  criticism  was  not  new.  He 
turned  carelessly  away,  and  sauntered  out  on  the 
road  to  the  sea.  Thence  he  strolled  along  the  sands 
toward  the  cliffs,  where,  meeting  an  impediment  in 
the  shape  of  a  garden  wall,he  leaped  it  with  a  certain 
agile,  boyish  ease  and  experience,  and  struck  across 
an  open  lawn  toward  the  rocks  again.  The  best  so- 
ciety of  Greyport  were  not  early  risers,  and  the 
spectacle  of  a  trespasser  in  an  evening  dress  ex- 
cited only  the  criticism  of  grooms  hanging  about 
the  stables,  or  cleanly  housemaids  on  the  broad  ve- 
randas that  in  Greyport  architecture  dutifully  gave 
upon  the  sea.  Only  once,  as  he  entered  the  boun- 
daries of  Cliffwood  Lodge,  the  famous  seat  of 


36  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

Eenwyck  Masterman,  was  he  aware  of  suspicious 
scrutiny;  but  a  slouching  figure  that  vanished 
quickly  in  the  lodge  offered  no  opposition  to  his 
progress.  Avoiding  the  pathway  to  the  lodge,  Is- 
lington kept  along  the  rocks  until,  reaching  a  little 
promontory  and  rustic  pavilion,  ha  sat  down  and 
gazed  upon  the  sea. 

And  presently  an  infinite  peace  stole  upon  him. 
Except  where  the  waves  lapped  la-zily  the  crags 
below,  the  vast  expanse  beyond  seemed  unbroken 
by  ripple,  heaving  only  in  broad  ponderable  sheets, 
and  rhythmically,  as  if  still  in  sleep.  The  air  was 
filled  with  a  luminous  haze  that  caught  and  held 
the  direct  sunbeams.  In  the  deep  calm  that  lay 
upon  the  sea,  it  seemed  to  Islington  that  all  the 
tenderness  of  culture,  magic  of  wealth,  and  spell 
of  refinement  that  for  years  had  wrought  upon 
that  favored  shore  had  extended  its  gracious  influ- 
ence even  here.  What  a  pampered  and  caressed 
old  ocean  it  was;  caj  oled,  flattered,  and  feted  where 
it  lay  !  An  odd  recollection  of  the  turbid  Stanis- 
laus hurrying  by  the  ascetic  pines,  of  the  grim 
outlines  of  Deadwood  Hill,  swam  before  his  eyes, 
and  made  the  yellow  green  of  the  velvet  lawn 
and  graceful  foliage  seem  almost  tropical  by  con- 
trast. And,  looking  up,  a  few  yards  distant  he  be- 
held a  tall  slip  of  a  girl  gazing  upon  the  sea,  — 
Blanche  Masterman. 

She  had  plucked  somewhere  a  large  fan-shaped 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  37 

leaf,  which  she  held  parasol-wise,  shading  the 
blond  masses  of  her  hair,  and  hiding  her  gray 
eyes.  She  had  changed  her  festal  dress,  with  its 
amplitude  of  flounce  and  train,  for  a  closely  fitting 
half-antique  habit  whose  scant  outlines  would 
have  been  trying  to  limbs  less  shapely,  but  which 
prettily  accented  the  graceful  curves  and  sweeping 
lines  of  this  Greyport  goddess.  As  Islington  rose, 
she  came  toward  him  with  a  frankly  outstretched 
hand  and  unconstrained  manner.  Had  she  ob- 
served him  first  ?  I  don't  know. 

They  sat  down  together  on  a  rustic  seat,  Miss 
Blanche  facing  the  sea,  and  shading  her  eyes  with 
the  leaf. 

"  I  don't  really  know  how  long  I  have  been, 
sitting  here,"  said  Islington,  "  or  whether  I  have 
not  been  actually  asleep  and  dreaming.  It  seemed 
too  lovely  a  morning  to  go  to  bed.  But  you  ? " 

From  behind  the  leaf,  it  appeared  that  Miss 
Blanche,  on  retiring,  had  been  pursued  by  a  hideous 
winged  bug  which  defied  the  efforts  of  herself  and 
maid  to  dislodge.  Odin,  the  Spitz  dog,  had  insisted 
upon  scratching  at  the  door.  And  it  made  her 
eyes  red  to  sleep  in  the  morning.  And  she  had 
an  early  call  to  make.  And  the  sea  looked 
lovely. 

"I'm  glad  to  find  you  here,  whatever  be  the 
cause,"  said  Islington,  with  his  old  directness. 
"  To-day,  as  you  know,  is  my  last  day  in  Greyport, 


38  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

and  it  is  much  pleasanter  to  say  good  by  under 
this  blue  sky  than  even  beneath  your  father's 
wonderful  frescos  yonde*  I  want  to  remember 
you,  too,  as  part  of  this  pleasant  prospect  which 
belongs  to  us  all,  rather  than  recall  you  in  any- 
body's particular  setting." 

"  I  know,"  said  Blanche,  with  equal  directness, 
"  that  houses  are  one  of  the  defects  of  our  civiliza- 
tion ;  but  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  the  idea  as 
elegantly  expressed  before.  Where  do  you  go  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  yet.  I  have  several  plans.  I 
may  go  to  South  America  and  become  president 
of  one  of  the  republics,  —  I  am  not  particular 
which.  I  am  rich,  but  in  that  part  of  America 
which  lies  outside  of  Greyport  it  is  necessary  for 
every  man  to  have  some  work.  My  friends  think 
I  should  have  some  great  aim  in  life,  with  a  capital 
A.  But  I  was  born  a  vagabond,  and  a  vagabond  I 
shall  probably  die." 

"  I  don't  know  anybody  in  South  America,"  said 
.  Blanche,  languidly.  "  There  were  two  girls  here 
last  season,  but  they  did  n't  wear  stays  in  the 
house,  and  their  white  frocks  never  were  properly 
done  up.  If  you  go  to  South  America,  you  must 
write  to  me." 

"I  will.  Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  this 
flower  which  I  found  in  your  greenhouse.  It 
looks  much  like  a  California  blossom." 

"  Perhaps  it  is.    Father  bought  it  of  a  half-crazy 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  39 

old  man  who  came  here  one  day.  Do  you  know 
him?" 

Islington  laughed.  "  I  am  afraid  not.  But  let 
me  present  this  in  a  less  business-like  fashion." 

"  Thank  you.  Kemind  me  to  give  you  one  in  re- 
turn before  you  go,  —  or  will  you  choose  yourself  ? " 

They  had  both  risen  as  by  a  common  instinct. 

"Good  by." 

The  cool  flower-like  hand  lay  in  his  for  an  in- 
stant. 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  by  putting  aside  that  leaf 
a  moment  before  I  go  ? " 

"But  my  eyes  are  red,  and  I  look  like  a 
perfect  fright." 

Yet,  after  a  long  pause,  the  leaf  fluttered  down,  and 
a  pair  of  very  beautiful  but  withal  very  clear  and 
critical  eyes  met  his.  Islington  was  constrained  to 
look  away.  When  he  turned  again,  she  was  gone. 

"  Mister  Hislington,  —  sir  ! " 

It  was  Chalker,  the  English  groom,  out  of  breath 
with  running. 

"  Seein'  you  alone,  sir,  —  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  — 
but  there 's  a  person  —  " 

"A  person!  what  the  devil  do  you  mean? 
Speak  English  —  no,  damn  it,  I  mean  don't,"  said 
Islington,  snappishly. 

"  I  sed  a  person,  sir.  Beg  pardon  —  no  offence 
—  but  not  a  gent,  sir.  In  the  lib'ry." 

A  little  amused  even  through  the  utter  dissat- 


40  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

isfaction  with  himself  and  vague  loneliness  that  had 
suddenly  come  upon  him,  Islington,  as  he  walked 
toward  the  lodge,  asked,  "  Why  is  n't  he  a  gent  ? 

"  No  gent  —  beggin'  your  pardin,  sir  —  'ud  guy 
a  man  in  sarvis,  sir.  Takes  me  'ands  so,  sir,  as  I 
sits  in  the  rumble  at  the  gate,  and  puts  'em  downd 
so,  sir,  and  sez,  '  Put  'em  in  your  pocket,  young  man, 
—  or  is  it  a  road  agint  you  expects  to  see,  that  you 
'olds  hup  your  'ands,  hand  crosses  'em  like  to  that/ 
sez  he.  *  'Old  'ard,'  sez  he, '  on  the  short  curves,  or 
you  '11  bust  your  precious  crust,'  sez  he.  And  hasks 
for  you,  sir.  This  way,  sir." 

They  entered  the  lodge.  Islington  hurried  down 
the  long  Gothic  hall,  and  opened  the  library  door. 

In  an  arm-chair,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  a 
man  sat  apparently  contemplating  a  large,  stiff, 
yellow  hat  with  an  enormous  brim,  that  was  placed 
on  the  floor  before  him.  His  hands  rested  lightly 
between  his  knees,  but  one  foot  was  drawn  up  at 
the  side  of  his  chair  in  a  peculiar  manner.  In  the 
first  glance  that  Islington  gave,  the  attitude  in 
some  odd,  irreconcilable  way  suggested  a  brake. 
In  another  moment  he  dashed  across  the  room,  and, 
holding  out  both  hands,  cried,  "  Yuba  Bill ! " 

The  man  rose,  caught  Islington  by  the  shoulders, 
wheeled  him  round,  hugged  him,  felt  of  his  ribs 
like  a  good-natured  ogre,  shook  his  hands  violent- 
ly, laughed,  and  then  said,  somewhat  ruefully, 
"And  how  ever  did  you  know  me  ? " 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  41 

Seeing  that  Yuba  Bill  evidently  regarded  him- 
self as  in  some  elaborate  disguise,  Islington 
laughed,  and  suggested  that  it  must  have  been  in- 
stinct. 

"And  you?"  said  Bill,  holding  him  at  arm's 
length,  and  surveying  him  critically, —  "  you !  —  toe 
think  —  toe  think  —  a  little  cuss  no  higher  nor  a 
trace,  a  boy  as  I  've  flicked  outer  the  road  with  a 
whip  time  in  agin,  a  boy  ez  never  hed  much  clothes 
to  speak  of,  turned  into  a  sport ! " 

Islington  remembered,  with  a  thrill  of  ludicrous 
terror,  that  he  still  wore  his  evening  dress. 

"  Turned,"  continued  Yuba  Bill,  severely,  — 
"turned  into  a  restyourant  waiter,  —  a  garsong! 
Eh,  Alfonse,  bring  me  a  patty  de  foy  grass  and  an 
omelette,  demme  ! " 

"  Dear  old  chap  ! "  said  Islington,  laughing,  and 
trying  to  put  his  hand  over  Bill's  bearded  mouth, 
"  but  you  —  you  don't  look  exactly  like  yourself ! 
You  're  not  well,  Bill."  And  indeed,  as  he  turned 
toward  the  light,  Bill's  eyes  appeared  cavernous, 
and  his  hair  and  beard  thickly  streaked  with  gray. 

"  Maybe  it 's  this  yer  harness,"  said  Bill,  a  little 
anxiously.  "  When  I  hitches  on  this  yer  curb  " 
(lie  indicated  a  massive  gold  watch-chain  with 
enormous  links), "and  mounts  this ' morning  star/  " 
(he  pointed  to  a  very  large  solitaire  pin  which  had 
the  appearance  of  blistering  his  whole  shirt-front), 
"  it  kinder  weighs  heavy  on  me,  Tommy.  Other- 


42  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS*, 

wise  I  'm  all  right,  my  boy,  —  all  right."  But  he 
evaded  Islington's  keen  eye,  and  turned  from  the 
light. 

"You  have  something  to  tell  me,  Bill,"  said 
Islington,  suddenly,  and  with  almost  brusque  di- 
rectness ;  "  out  with  it." 

Bill  did  not  speak,  but  moved  uneasily  toward 
his  hat. 

"You  did  n't  come  three  thousand  miles,  without 
a  word  of  warning,  to  talk  to  me  of  old  times,"  said 
Islington,  more  kindly, "  glad  as  I  would  have  been 
to  see  you.  It  is  n't  your  way,  Bill,  and  you  know 
it.  We  shall  not  be  disturbed  here,"  he  added,  in 
reply  to  an  inquiring  glance  that  Bill  directed  to 
the  door, "  and  I  am  ready  to  hear  you." 

"Firstly,  then,"  said  Bill,  drawing  his  chair 
nearer  Islington,  "  answer  me  one  question,  Tommy, 
fair  and  square,  and  up  and  down." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Islington,  with  a  slight  smile. 

"Ef  I  should  say  to  you,  Tommy,  —  say  to  you 
to-day,  right  here,  you  must  come  with  me,  —  you 
must  leave  this  place  for  a  month,  a  year,  two 
years  maybe,  perhaps  forever,  —  is  there  any- 
thing that  'ud  keep  you, — anything,  my  boy,  ez 
you  could  n't  leave  ? " 

"No,"  said  Tommy,  quietly ;  "I  am  only  visiting 
here.  I  thought  of  leaving  Greyport  to-day." 

"But  if  I  should  say  to  you,  Tommy,  come 
with  me  on  a  pasear  to  Chiny,  to  Japan,  to  South 
Ameriky,  p'r'aps,  could  you  go  ?" 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  43 

"  Yes,"  said  Islington,  after  a  slight  pause. 

"  Thar  is  n't  ennything,"  said  Bill,  drawing  a 
little  closer,  and  lowering  his  voice  confidentially,  — 
"ennything  in  the  way  of  a  young  woman — you 
understand,  Tommy — ez  would  keep  you  ?  They  're 
mighty  sweet  about  here ;  and  whether  a  man  is 
young  or  old,  Tommy,  there 's  always  some  woman 
as  is  brake  or  whip  to  him !" 

In  a  certain  excited  bitterness  that  character- 
ized the  delivery  of  this  abstract  truth,  Bill  did 
not  see  that  the  young  man's  face  flushed  slightly 
as  he  answered  "  No." 

"Then  listen.  It's  seven  years  ago,  Tommy, 
thet  I  was  working  one  o'  the  Pioneer  coaches  over 
from  Gold  Hill.  Ez  I  stood  in  front  o'  the  stage- 
office,  the  sheriff  o'  the  county  comes  to  me,  and 
he  sez,  'Bill/  sez  he,  'I've  got  a  looney  chap,  as 
I  'm  in  charge  of,  taking  'im  down  to  the  'sylum  in 
Stockton.  He  'z  quiet  and  peaceable,  but  the  insides 
don't  like  to  ride  with  him.  Hev  you  enny  objec- 
tion to  give  him  a  lift  on  the  box  beside  you  ? '  I 
sez,  '  No ;  put  him  up.'  When  I  came  to  go  and 
get  up  on  that  box  beside  him,  that  man,  Tommy, 
— that  man  sittin'  there,  quiet  and  peaceable,  was 
—  Johnson  ! 

"  He  did  n't  know  me,  my  boy,"  Yuba  Bill  con- 
tinued, rising  and  putting  his  hands  on  Tommy's 
shoulders,  —  "  he  did  n't  know  me.  He  did  n't  know 
nothing  about  you,  nor  Angel's,  nor  the  quicksilver 


44  MBS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

lode,  nor  even  his  own  name.  He  said  his  name 
was  Skaggs,  but  I  knowd  it  was  Johnson.  Thar 
was  times,  Tommy,  you  might  have  knocked  me 
off  that  box  with  a  feather;  thar  was  times 
when  if  the  twenty-seven  passengers  o'  that  stage 
hed  found  theirselves  swimming  in  the  American 
Eiver  five  hundred  feet  below  the  road,  I  never 
could  have  explained  it  satisfactorily  to  the  com- 
pany,— never. 

"  The  sheriff  said,"  Bill  continued  hastily,  as  if 
to  preclude  any  interruption  from  the  young  man, 
— "  the  sheriff  said  he  had  been  brought  into  Mur- 
phy's Camp  three  years  before,  dripping  with  wa- 
ter, and  sufferin'  from  perkussion  of  the  brain,  and 
had  been  cared  for  generally  by  the  boys  'round. 
When  I  told  the  sheriff  I  knowed  'im,  I  got  him 
to  leave  him  in  my  care ;  and  I  took  him  to  'Fris- 
co, Tommy,  to  'Frisco,  and  I  put  him  in  charge  or 
the  best  doctors  there,  and  paid  his  board  myself, 
There  was  nothin'  he  did  n't  have  ez  he  wanted. 
Don't  look  that  way,  my  dear  boy,  for  God's  sake, 
don't!" 

"  0  Bill,"  said  Islington,  rising  and  staggering 
to  the  window,  "why  did  you  keep  this  from  me  ? " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Bill,  turning  on  him  savagely,  — 
"why?  because  I  warn't  a  fool.  Thar  was  you, 
winnin'  your  way  in  college ;  thar  was  you,  risin' 
in  the  world,  and  of  some  account  to  it ;  Yer  was 
an  old  bummer,  ez  good  ez  dead  to  it,  —  a  man  ez 


MBS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  45 

oughter  been  dead  afore !  a  man  ez  never  denied 
it !  But  you  allus  liked  him  better  nor  me/'  said 
Bill,  bitterly. 

"  Forgive  me,  Bill/'  said  the  young  man,  seizing 
both  his  hands.  "  I  know  you  did  it  for  the  best ; 
but  go  on." 

"  Thar  ain't  much  more  to  tell,  nor  much  use  to 
tell  it,  as  I  can  see,"  said  Bill,  moodily.  "  He  never 
could  be  cured,  the  doctors  said,  for  he  had  what 
they  called  monomania, — was  always  talking 
about  his  wife  and  darter  that  somebody  had  stole 
away  years  ago,  and  plannin'  revenge  on  that  some- 
body. And  six  months  ago  he  was  missed.  I 
tracked  him  to  Carson,  to  Salt  Lake  City,  to  Oma- 
ha, to  Chicago,  to  New  York,  —  and  here ! " 

"  Here  ! "  echoed  Islington. 

"  Here !  And  that 's  what  brings  me  here  to-day. 
Whethers  he 's  crazy  or  well,  whethers  he 's  huntin' 
you  or  lookin'  up  that  other  man,  you  must  get 
away  from  here.  You  must  n't  see  him.  You  and 
me,  Tommy,  will  go  away  on  a  cruise.  In  three 
or  four  years  he  '11  be  dead  or  missing,  and  then 
we  '11  come  back.  Come."  And  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Bill,"  said  Islington,  rising  also,  and  taking 
the  hand  of  his  friend,  with  the  same  quiet  obsti- 
nacy that  in  the  old  days  had  endeared  him  to 
Bill,  "  wherever  he  is,  here  or  elsewhere,  sane  or 
crazy,  I  shall  seek  and  find  him.  Every  dollar 
that  I  have  shall  be  his,  every  dollar  that  I  have 


46  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

spent  shall  be  returned  to  him.  I  am  young  yet, 
thank  God,  and  can  work ;  and  if  there  is  a  way 
out  of  this  miserable  business,  I  shall  find  it." 

"I  knew,"  said  Bill,  with  a  surliness  that  ill 
concealed  his  evident  admiration  of  the  calm  fig- 
ure before  him  —  "  I  knew  the  partikler  style  of 
d — n  fool  that  you  was,  and  expected  no  better. 
Good  by,  then —  God  Almighty!  who's  that?" 

He  was  on  his  way  to  the  open  French  window, 
but  had  started  back,  his  face  quite  white  and 
bloodless,  and  his  eyes  staring.  Islington  ran  to 
the  window,  and  looked  out.  A  white  skirt  van- 
ished around  the  corner  of  the  veranda.  When 
he  returned,  Bill  had  dropped  into  a  chair. 

"  It  must  have  been  Miss  Masterman,  I  think  ; 
but  what 's  the  matter  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Bill,  faintly ;  "  have  you  got 
any  whiskey  handy  ?  " 

Islington  brought  a  decanter,  and,  pouring  out 
some  spirits,  handed  the  glass  to  Bill.  Bill 
drained  it,  and  then  said,  "  Who  is  Miss  Master- 
man?" 

"  Mr.  Masterman's  daughter ;  that  is,  an  adopt- 
ed daughter,  I  believe." 

"Wot  name?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  said  Islington,  pettishly, 
more  vexed  than  he  cared  to  own  at  this  question- 
ing. 

Yuba  Bill  rose  and  walked  to  the  window, 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  47 

closed  it,  walked  back  again  to  the  door,  glanced 
at  Islington,  hesitated,  and  then  returned  to  his 
chair. 

"  I  did  n't  tell  you  I  was  married,  — did  I  ?"  he 
said  suddenly,  looking  up  in  Islington's  face  with 
an  unsuccessful  attempt  at  a  reckless  laugh. 

"  No,"  said  Islington,  more  pained  at  the  man- 
ner than  the  words. 

"Fact,"  said  Yuba  Bill.  "Three  years  ago  it 
was,  Tommy, — three  years  ago  !" 

He  looked  so  hard  at  Islington,  that,  feeling 
he  was  expected  to  say  something,  he  asked  vague- 
ly, "  Who  did  you  marry  ? " 

"Thet's  it!"  said  Yuba  Bill;  "I  can't  ezactly 
say ;  partikly,  though,  a  she  devil !  generally,  the 
wife  of  half  a  dozen  other  men." 

Accustomed,  apparently,  to  have  his  conjugal 
infelicities  a  theme  of  mirth  among  men,  and 
seeing  no  trace  of  amusement  on  Islington's 
grave  face,  his  dogged,  reckless  manner  softened, 
and,  drawing  his  chair  closer  to  Islington,  he  went 
on  :  "  It  all  began  outer  this  ?  we  was  coming  down 
Watson's  grade  one  night  pretty  free,  when  the 
expressman  turns  to  me  and  sez,  '  There 's  a  row 
inside,  and  you  'd  better  pull  up  ! '  I  pulls  up,  and 
out  hops,  first  a  woman,  and  then  two  or  three 
chaps  swearing  and  cursin',  and  tryin'  to  drag  some 
one  arter  them.  Then  it  'pear'd,  Tommy,  thet  it 
was  this  woman's  drunken  husband  they  was  go- 


48  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

ing  to  put  out  for  abusin'  her,  and  strikin'  her  in 
the  coach ;  and  if  it  had  n't  been  for  me,  my  boy, 
they  'd  hev  left  that  chap  thar  in  the  road.  But  I 
fixes  matters  up  by  putting  her  alongside  o'  me  on 
the  box,  and  we  drove  on.  She  was  very  white, 
Tommy,  —  for  the  matter  o'  that,  she  was  always 
one  o'  these  very  white  women,  that  never  got  red 
in  the  face,  —  but  she  never  cried  a  whimper. 
Most  wimin  would  have  cried.  It  was  queer,  but 
Bhe  never  cried.  I  thought  so  at  the  time. 

"  She  was  very  tall,  with  a  lot  o'  light  hair  me- 
andering down  the  back  of  her  head,  as  long  as  a 
deer-skin  whip-lash,  and  about  the  color.  She 
hed  eyes  thet  'd  bore  you  through  at  fifty  yards, 
and  pooty  hands  and  feet.  And  when  she  kinder 
got  out  o'  that  stiff,  narvous  state  she  was  in,  and 
warmed  up  a  little,  and  got  chipper,  by  G — d,  sir, 
she  was  handsome,  —  she  was  that ! " 

A  little  flushed  and  embarrassed  at  his  own  en- 
thusiasm, he  stopped,  and  then  said,  carelessly, 
'They  got  off  at  Murphy's." 

"  Well,"  said  Islington. 

"  Well,  I  used  to  see  her  often  arter  thet,  and 
when  she  was  alone  she  allus  took  the  box-seat. 
She  kinder  confided  her  troubles  to  me,  how  her 
husband  got  drunk  and  abused  her ;  and  I  did  n't 
eee  much  o'  him,  for  he  was  away  in  'Frisco  arter 
thet.  But  it  was  all  square,  Tommy,  —  all  square 
'twixt  me  and  her. 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  49 

"  I  got  a  going  there  a  good  deal,  and  then  one 
day  I  sez  to  myself, '  Bill,  this  won't  do,'  and  I 
got  changed  to  another  route.  Did  you  ever  know 
Jackson  Filltree,  Tommy  ? "  said  Bill,  breaking  off 
suddenly. 

"No." 

"  Might  have  heerd  of  him,  pYaps  ? " 

"  No,"  said  Islington,  impatiently. 

"  Jackson  Filltree  ran  the  express  from  White's 
out  to  Summit,  'cross  the  North  Fork  of  the  Yuba. 
One  day  he  sez  to  me, '  Bill,  that 's  a  mighty  bad 
ford  at  the  North  Fork/  I  sez,  'I  believe  you, 
Jackson/  *  It  '11  git  me  some  day,  Bill,  sure/  sez 
he.  I  sez, '  Why  don't  you  take  the  lower  ford  ? ' 
'  I  don't  know/  sez  he,  '  but  I  can't/  So  ever  after, 
when  I  met  him,  he  sez, '  That  North  Fork  ain't  got 
me  yet/  One  day  I  was  in  Sacramento,  and  up 
comes  Filltree.  He  sez, '  I  've  sold  out  the  express 
business  on  account  of  the  North  Fork,  but  it 's 
bound  to  get  me  yet,  Bill,  sure ' ;  and  he  laughs. 
Two  weeks  after  they  finds  his  body  below  the 
ford,  whar  he  tried  to  cross,  comin'  down  from 
the  Summit  way.  Folks  said  it  was  foolishness  : 
Tommy,  I  sez  it  was  Fate !  The  second  day  arter  I 
was  changed  to  the  Placerville  route,  thet  woman 
comes  outer  the  hotel  above  the  stage-office.  Her 
husband,  she  said,  was  lying  sick  in  Placerville ; 
that 's  what  she  said ;  but  it  was  Fate,  Tommy, 
Fate.  Three  months  afterward,  her  husband  takes 


50  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

an  overdose  of  morphine  for  delirium  tremens,  and 
dies.  There 's  folks  ez  sez  she  gave  it  to  him,  but 
it 's  Fate.  A  year  after  that  I  married  her,  —  Fate, 
Tommy,  Fate ! 

"  I  lived  with  her  jest  three  months,"  he  went 
on,  after  a  long  breath,  —  "  three  months !  It  ain't 
much  time  for  a  happy  man.  I  Ve  seen  a  good 
deal  o'  hard  life  in  my  day,  but  there  was  days  in 
that  three  months  longer  than  any  day  in  my  life, 
—  days,  Tommy,  when  it  was  a  toss-up  whether  I 
should  kill  her  or  she  me.  But  thar,  I  'm  done. 
You  are  a  young  man,  Tommy,  and  I  ain't  goin' 
to  tell  things  thet,  old  as  I  am,  three  years  ago  I 
could  n't  have  believed." 

When  at  last,  with  his  grim  face  turned  toward 
the  window,  he  sat  silently  with  his  clinched 
hands  on  his  knees  before  him,  Islington  asked 
where  his  wife  was  now. 

"  Ask  me  no  more,  my  boy,  —  no  more.  I  Ve  said 
my  say."  With  a  gesture  as  of  throwing  down  a 
pair  of  reins  before  him,  he  rose,  and  walked  to 
the  window. 

"  You  kin  understand,  Tommy,  why  a  little  trip 
around  the  world  'ud  do  me  good.  Ef  you  can't 
go  with  me,  well  and  good.  But  go  I  must." 

"  Not  before  luncheon,  I  hope,"  said  a  very  sweet 
voice,  as  Blanche  Masterman  suddenly  stood  before 
them.  "  Father  would  never  forgive  me  if  in  his 
absence  I  permitted  one  of  Mr.  Islington's  friends 


MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  51 

to  go  in  this  way  You  will  stay,  won't  you  ?  Do ! 
And  you  will  give  me  your  arm  now ;  and  when 
Mr.  Islington  has  done  staring,  he  will  follow  us 
into  the  dining-room  and  introduce  you." 

"  I  have  quite  fallen  in  love  with  your  friend," 
said  Miss  Blanche,  as  they  stood  in  the  drawing- 
room  looking  at  the  figure  of  Bill,  strolling,  with 
his  short  pipe  in  his  mouth,  through  the  distant 
shrubbery.  "  He  asks  very  queer  questions,  though. 
He  wanted  to  know  my  mother's  maiden  name." 

"  He  is  an  honest  fellow,"  said  Islington,  gravely. 

"You  are  very  much  subdued.  You  don't 
thank  me,  I  dare  say,  for  keeping  you  and  your 
friend  here ;  but  you  could  n't  go,  you  know,  until 
father  returned." 

Islington  smiled,  but  not  very  gayly. 

"  And  then  I  think  it  much  better  for  us  to  part 
here  under  these  frescos,  don't  you  ?  Good  by." 

She  extended  her  long,  slim  hand. 

"Out  in  the  sunlight  there,  when  my  eyes 
were  red,  you  were  very  anxious  to  look  at  me," 
she  added,  in  a  dangerous  voice. 

Islington  raised  his  sad  eyes  to  hers.  Some-' 
thing  glittering  upon  her  own  sweet  lashes  trem- 
bled and  fell. 

"Blanche!" 

She  was  rosy  enough  now,  and  would  have  with- 
drawn her  hand,  but  Islington  detained  it.  She 
was  not  quite  certain  but  that  her  waist  was  also 


52  MRS.  SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

in  jeopardy.  Yet  she  could  not  help  saying,  "  Are 
you  sure  that  there  is  n't  anything  in  the  way  of 
a  young  woman  that  would  keep  you  ? " 

"  Blanche  ! "  said  Islington  in  reproachful  horror. 

"  If  gentlemen  will  roar  out  their  secrets  before 
an  open  window,  with  a  young  woman  lying  on  a 
sofa  on  the  veranda,  reading  a  stupid  French 
novel,  they  must  not  be  surprised  if  she  gives 
more  attention  to  them  than  her  book." 

"  Then  you  know  all,  Blanche  ? " 

"  I  know,"  said  Blanche,  "  let 's  see  —  I  know 
the  partiklar  style  of  —  ahem !  —  fool  you  was, 
and  expected  no  better.  Good  by."  And,  gliding 
like  a  lovely  and  innocent  milk  snake  out  of  his 
grasp,  she  slipped  away. 

To  the  pleasant  ripple  of  waves,  the  sound  of 
music  and  light  voices,  the  yellow  midsummer 
moon  again  rose  over  Greyport.  It  looked  upon 
formless  masses  of  rock  and  shrubbery,  wide 
spaces  of  lawn  and  beach,  and  a  shimmering 
expanse  of  water.  It  singled  out  particular  ob- 
jects,—  a  white  sail  in  shore,  a  crystal  globe  upon 
the  lawn,  and  flashed  upon  something  held  be- 
tween the  teeth  of  a  crouching  figure  scaling  the 
low  wall  of  Cliffwood  Lodge.  Then,  as  a  man 
and  woman  passed  out  from  under  the  shadows  of 
the  foliage  into  the  open  moonlight  of  the  garden 
path,  the  figure  leaped  from  the  wall,  and  stood 
.erect  and  waiting  in  the  shadow. 


MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS.  53 

It  was  the  figure  of  an  old  man,  with  rolling 
eyes,  his  trembling  hand  grasping  a  long,  keen 
knife,  —  a  figure  more  pitiable  than  pitiless,  more 
pathetic  than  terrible.  But  the  next  moment  the 
knife  was  stricken  from  his  hand,  and  he  strug- 
gled in  the  firm  grasp  of  another  figure  that  ap- 
parently sprang  from  the  wall  beside  him. 

"D — n  you,  Masterman!"  cried  the  old  man, 
hoarsely ;  "  give  me  fair  play,  and  I  '11  kill  you 
yet!" 

"Which  my  name  is  Yuba  Bill,"  said  Bill, 
quietly,  "and  it's  time  this  d — n  fooling  was 
stopped." 

The  old  man  glared  in  Bill's  face  savagely.  "  I 
know  you.  You  're  one  of  Masterman's  friends,  — 
d — n  you,  —  let  me  go  till  I  cut  his  heart  out,  — 
let  me  go !  Where  is  my  Mary  ?  —  where  is  my 
wife  ?  —  there  she  is  !  there  !  —  there  !  —  there ! 
Mary ! "  He  would  have  screamed,  but  Bill 
placed  his  powerful  hand  upon  his  mouth,  as  he 
turned  in  the  direction  of  the  old  man's  glance. 
Distinct  in  the  moonlight  the  figures  of  Islington 
and  Blanche,  arm  in  arm,  stood  out  upon  the  gar- 
den path. 

"  Give  me  my  wife ! "  muttered  the  old  man 
hoarsely,  between  Bill's  fingers.  "  Where  is  she  ? " 

A  sudden  fury  passed  over  Yuba  Bill's  race. 
"  Where  is  your  wife  ? "  he  echoed,  pressing  the  old 
man  back  against  the  garden  wall,  and  holding  him 


54  MRS.   SKAGGS'S  HUSBANDS. 

there  as  in  a  vice.  "  Where  is  your  wife  ? "  he  re- 
peated, thrusting  his  grim  sardonic  jaw  and  savage 
eyes  into  the  old  man's  frightened  face.  "  Where 
is  Jack  Adam's  wife  ?  Where  is  MY  wife  ?  Where 
is  the  she-devil  that  drove  one  man  mad,  that  sent 
another  to  hell  by  his  own  hand,  that  eternally 
broke  and  mined  me  ?  Where  !  Where  !  Do  you 
ask  where  ?  In  jail  in  Sacramento,  —  in  jail,  do  you 
hear  ?  —  in  jail  for  murder,  Johnson,  —  murder ! " 

The  old  man  gasped,  stiffened,  and  then,  relax- 
ing, suddenly  slipped,  a  mere  inanimate  mass,  at 
Yuba  Bill's  feet.  With  a  sudden  revulsion  of 
feeling,  Yuba  Bill  dropped  at  his  side,  and,  lifting 
him  tenderly  in  his  arms,  whispered,  "  Look  up,  old 
man,  Johnson  !  look  up,  for  God's  sake  !  —  it  'sme, 
—  Yuba  Bill !  and  yonder  is  your  daughter,  and  — 
Tommy !  — don't  you  know —  Tommy,  little  Tom- 
my Islington  ? " 

Johnson's  eyes  slowly  opened.  He  whispered, 
"Tommy !  yes,  Tommy !  Sit  by  me,  Tommy.  But 
don't  sit  so  near  the  bank.  Don't  you  see 
how  the  river  is  rising  and  beckoning  to  me,  — 
hissing,  and  boilin'  over  the  rocks  ?  It 's  gittin 
higher !  —  hold  me,  Tommy,  —  hold  me,  and  don't 
let  me  go  yet.  We  '11  live  to  cut  his  heart  out, 
Tommy,  —  we  '11  live  —  we  '11  —  "  His  head  sank, 
and  the  rushing  river,  invisible  to  all  eyes  save 
his,  leaped  toward  him  out  of  the  darkness,  and 
bore  him  away,  no  longer  to  the  darkness,  but 
through  it  to  the  distant,  peaceful,  shining 


HOW    SANTA    GLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMP- 
SON'S   BAE. 

IT  had  been  raining  in  the  valley  of  the  Sacra- 
mento. The  North  Fork  had  overflowed  its 
banks  and  Kattlesnake  Creek  was  impassable.  The 
few  boulders  that  had  marked  the  summer  ford  at 
Simpson's  Crossing  were  obliterated  by  a  vast 
sheet  of  water  stretching  to  the  foothills.  The  up 
stage  was  stopped  at  Grangers ;  the  last  mail  had 
been  abandoned  in  the  tules,  the  rider  swimming 
for  his  life.  "  An  area,"  remarked  the  "  Sierra 
Avalanche,"  with  pensive  local  pride,  "  as  large  as 
the  State  of  Massachusetts  is  now  under  water." 

Nor  was  the  weather  any  better  in  the  foothills. 
The  mud  lay  deep  on  the  mountain  road ;  wagons 
that  neither  physical  force  nor  moral  objurgation 
could  move  from  the  evil  ways  into  which  they 
had  fallen,  encumbered  the  track,  and  the  way  to 
Simpson's  Bar  was  indicated  by  broken-down 
teams  and  hard  swearing.  And  farther  on,  cut  off 
and  inaccessible,  rained  upon  and  bedraggled, 
smitten  by  high  winds  and  threatened  by  high 
water,  Simpson's  Bar,  on  the  eve  of  Christmas  day, 
1862,  clung  like  a  swallow's  nest  to  the  rocky 


56        HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR. 

entablature  and  splintered  capitals  of  Table  Moun- 
tain, and  shook  in  the  blast. 

As  night  shut  down  on  the  settlement,  a  few 
lights  gleamed  through  the  mist  from  the  windows 
of  cabins  on  either  side  of  the  highway  now 
crossed  and  gullied  by  lawless  streams  and  swept 
by  marauding  winds.  Happily  most  of  the  popu- 
lation were  gathered  at  Thompson's  store,  clustered 
around  a  red-hot  stove,  at  which  they  silently  spat 
in  some  accepted  sense  of  social  communion  that 
perhaps  rendered  conversation  unnecessary.  In- 
deed, most  methods  of  diversion  had  long  since 
been  exhausted  on  Simpson's  Bar;  high  water 
had  suspended  the  regular  occupations  on  gulch 
and  on  river,  and  a  consequent  lack  of  money  and 
whiskey  had  taken  the  zest  from  most  illegitimate 
recreation.  Even  Mr.  Hamlin  was  fain  to  leave 
the  Bar  with  fifty  dollars  in  his  pocket,  —  the 
only  amount  actually  realized  of  the  large  sums 
won  by  him  in  the  successful  exercise  of  his 
arduous  profession.  "Ef  I  was  asked,"  he  re- 
marked somewhat  later, — "  ef  I  was  asked  to  pint 
out  a  purty  little  village  where  a  retired  sport  as 
did  n't  care  for  money  could  exercise  hisself,  fre- 
quent and  lively,  I  'd  say  Simpson's  Bar ;  but  for 
a  young  man  with  a  large  family  depending  on 
his  exertions,  it  don't  pay."  As  Mr.  Hamlin's 
family  consisted  mainly  of  female  adults,  this 
remark  is  quoted  rather  to  show  the  breadth  of 


HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR.      57 

his  humor  than  the  exact  extent  of  his  respon- 
sibilities. 

Howbeit,  the  unconscious  objects  of  this  satire 
sat  that  evening  in  the  listless  apathy  begotten  of 
idleness  and  lack  of  excitement.  Even  the  sudden 
splashing  of  hoofs  before  the  door  did  not  arouse 
them.  Dick  Bullen  alone  paused  in  the  act  of 
scraping  out  his  pipe,  and  lifted  his  head,  but  no 
other  one  of  the  group  indicated  any  interest  in, 
or  recognition  of,  the  man  who  entered. 

It  was  a  figure  familiar  enough  to  the  company, 
and  known  in  Simpson's  Bar  as  "  The  Old  Man." 
A  man  of  perhaps  fifty  years  ;  grizzled  and  scant 
of  hair,  but  still  fresh  and  youthful  of  complexion. 
A  face  full  of  ready,  but  not  very  powerful  sym- 
pathy, with  a  chameleon-like  aptitude  for  taking 
on  the  shade  and  color  of  contiguous  moods  and 
feelings.  He  had  evidently  just  left  some  hilari- 
ous companions,  and  did  not  at  first  notice  the 
gravity  of  the  group,  but  clapped  the  shoulder  of 
the  nearest  man  jocularly,  and  threw  himself  into 
a  vacant  chair. 

"  Jest  heard  the  best  thing  out,  boys  !  Ye  know 
Smiley,  over  yar,  —  Jim  Smiley,  —  funniest  man 
in  the  Bar  ?  Well,  Jim  was  jest  telling  the  richest 
yarn  about  —  " 

"  Smiley  's  a fool,"  interrupted  a  gloomy 

voice, 

"A  particular  skunk,"  added   another  is 

sepulchral  accents. 


58       HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB. 

A  silence  followed  these  positive  statements. 
The  Old  Man  glanced  quickly  around  the  group. 
Then  his  face  slowly  changed.  "  That 's  so,"  he  said 
reflectively,  after  a  pause,  "certingly  a  sort  of  a 
skunk  and  suthin  of  a  fool.  In  course."  He  was 
silent  for  a  moment  as  in  painful  contemplation 
of  the  unsavoriness  and  folly  of  the  unpopular 
Smiley.  "  Dismal  weather,  ain't  it  ? "  he  added, 
now  fully  embarked  on  the  current  of  prevailing 
sentiment.  "Mighty  rough  papers  on  the  boys, 
and  no  show  for  money  this  season.  And  to- 
morrow's  Christmas." 

There  was  a  movement  among  the  men  at  this 
announcement,  but  whether  of  satisfaction  or 
disgust  was  not  plain.  "  Yes,"  continued  the  Old 
Man  in  the  lugubrious  tone  he  had,  within  the 
last  few  moments,  unconsciously  adopted,  —  "  yes, 
Christmas,  and  to-night 's  Christmas  eve.  Ye  see, 
boys,  I  kinder  thought  —  that  is,  I  sorter  had  an 
idee,  jest  passin'  like,  you  know — that  may  be  ye  'd 
all  like  to  come  over  to  my  house  to-night  and 
have  a  sort  of  tear  round.  But  I  suppose,  now,  you 
would  n't  ?  Don't  feel  like  it,  may  be  ? "  he  added 
with  anxious  sympathy,  peering  into  the  faces  of 
his  companions. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  responded  Tom  Flynn 
with  some  cheerfulness.  "  P'r'aps  we  may.  But 
how  about  your  wife,  Old  Man  ?  What  does  she 
say  to  it?" 


HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB.      59 

The  Old  Man  hesitated.  His  conjugal  experi- 
ence had  not  been  a  happy  one,  and  the  fact  was 
known  to  Simpson's  Bar.  His  first  wife,  a  deli- 
cate, pretty  little  woman,  had  suffered  keenly  and 
secretly  from  the  jealous  suspicions  of  her  husband, 
until  one  day  he  invited  the  whole  Bar  to  his 
house  to  expose  her  infidelity.  On  arriving,  the 
party  found  the  shy,  petite  creature  quietly  en- 
gaged in  her  household  duties,  and  retired  abashed 
and  discomfited.  But  the  sensitive  woman  did 
not  easily  recover  from  the  shock  of  this  extraor- 
dinary outrage.  It  was  with  difficulty  she  re- 
gained her  equanimity  sufficiently  to  release  her 
lover  from  the  closet  in  which  he  was  concealed 
and  escape  with  him.  She  left  a  boy  of  three 
years  to  comfort  her  bereaved  husband.  The  Old 
Man's  present  wife  had  been  his  cook.  She  was 
large,  loyal,  and  aggressive. 

Before  he  could  reply,  Joe  Dimmick  suggested 
with  great  directness  that  it  was  the  "  Old  Man's 
house,"  and  that,  invoking  the  Divine  Power,  if 
the  case  were  his  own,  he  would  invite  whom  he 
pleased,  even  if  in  so  doing  he  imperilled  his  sal- 
vation. The  Powers  of  Evil,  he  further  remarked, 
should  contend  against  him  vainly.  All  this 
delivered  with  a  terseness  and  vigor  lost  in  this 
necessary  translation. 

"  In  course.  Certainly.  Thet  's  it,"  said  the 
Old  Man  with  a  sympathetic  frown.  "  Thar 's  no 


60       HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB. 

trouble  about  thet.  It 's  my  own  house,  built  every 
stick  on  it  myself.  Don't  you  be  afeard  o'  her, 
boys.  She  may  cut  up  a  trifle  rough,  —  ez  wimmin 
do,  —  but  she  '11  come  round."  Secretly  the  Old 
Man  trusted  to  the  exaltation  of  liquor  and  the 
power  of  courageous  example  to  sustain  him  in 
such  an  emergency. 

As  yet,  Dick  Bullen,  the  oracle  and  leader  of 
Simpson's  Bar,  had  not  spoken.  He  now  took  his 
pipe  from  his  lips.  "  Old  Man,  how  's  that  yer 
Johnny  gettin'  on  ?  Seems  to  me  he  did  n't  look 
so  peart  last  time  I  seed  him  on  the  bluff  heavin' 
rocks  at  Chinamen.  Didn't  seem  to  take  much 
interest  in  it.  Thar  was  a  gang  of  'em  by  yar 
yesterday,  —  drownded  out  up  the  river,  —  and  I 
kinder  thought  o'  Johnny,  and  how  he  'd  miss  'em  ! 
May  be  now,  we  'd  be  in  the  way  ef  he  wus  sick  ? " 

The  father,  evidently  touched  not  only  by  this 
pathetic  picture  of  Johnny's  deprivation,  but  by 
the  considerate  delicacy  of  the  speaker,  hastened 
to  assure  him  that  Johnny  was  better  and  that 
a  "  little  fun  might  'liven  him  up."  Whereupon 
Dick  arose,  shook  himself,  and  saying,  "  I  'm  ready. 
Lead  the  way,  Old  Man :  here  goes,"  himself  led 
the  way  with  a  leap,  a  characteristic  howl,  and 
darted  out  into  the  night.  As  he  passed  through 
the  outer  room  he  caught  up  a  blazing  brand  from 
the  hearth.  The  action  was  repeated  by  the  rest 
of  the  party,  closely  following  and  elbowing  each 


HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR.      61 

other,  and  before  the  astonished  proprietor  of 
Thompson's  grocery  was  aware  of  the  intention  of 
his  guests,  the  room  was  deserted. 

The  night  was  pitchy  dark.  In  the  first  gust  of 
wind  their  temporary  torches  were  extinguished, 
and  only  the  red  brands  dancing  and  flitting  in 
the  gloom  like  drunken  will-o'-the-wisps  indicated 
their  whereabouts.  Their  way  led  up  Pine-Tree 
Canon,  at  the  head  of  which  a  broad,  low,  bark- 
thatched  cabin  burrowed  in  the  mountain-side.  It 
was  the  home  of  the  Old  Man,  and  the  entrance  to 
the  tunnel  in  which  he  worked  when  he  worked  at 
all.  Here  the  crowd  paused  for  a  moment,  out  of 
delicate  deference  to  their  host,  who  came  up  pant- 
ing in  the  rear. 

"  Pr'aps  ye  'd  better  hold  on  a  second  out  yer, 
whilst  I  go  in  and  see  thet  things  is  all  right," 
said  the  Old  Man,  with  an  indifference  he  was  far 
from  feeling.  The  suggestion  was  graciously  ac- 
cepted, the  door  opened  and  closed  on  the  host, 
and  the  crowd,  leaning  their  backs  against  the  wall 
and  cowering  under  the  eaves,  waited  and  listened. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  no  sound  but  the 
dripping  of  water  from  the  eaves,  and  the  stir  and 
rustle  of  wrestling  boughs  above  them.  Then  the 
men  became  uneasy,  and  whispered  suggestion 
and  suspicion  passed  from  the  one  to  the  other. 
"  Eeckon  she 's  caved  in  his  head  the  first  lick  ! " 
"Decoyed  him  inter  the  tunnel  and  barred  him 


62       HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB. 

up,  likely."  "  Got  him  down  and  sittin'  on  him." 
"  Probly  bilin  suthin  to  heave  on  us  :  stand  clear 
the  door,  boys  ! "  For  just  then  the  latch  clicked, 
the  door  slowly  opened,  and  a  voice  said,  "  Come 
in  out  o'  the  wet." 

The  voice  was  neither  that  of  the  Old  Man  nor 
of  his  wife.  It  was  the  voice  of  a  small  boy,  its 
weak  treble  broken  by  that  preternatural  hoarse- 
ness which  only  vagabondage  and  the  habit  of  pre- 
mature self-assertion  can  give.  It  was  the  face  of 
a  small  boy  that  looked  up  at  theirs,  —  a  face  that 
might  have  been  pretty  and  even  refined  but  that 
it  was  darkened  by  evil  knowledge  from  within, 
and  dirt  and  hard  experience  from  without.  He 
had  a  blanket  around  his  shoulders  and  had  evi- 
dently just  risen  from  his  bed.  "  Come  in,"  he  re- 
peated, "  and  don't  make  no  noise.  The  Old  Man 's 
in  there  talking  to  mar,"  he  continued,  pointing  to 
an  adjacent  room  which  seemed  to  be  a  kitchen, 
from  which  the  Old  Man's  voice  came  in  deprecat- 
ing accents.  "  Let  me  be,"  he  added,  querulously, 
to  Dick  Bullen,  who  had  caught  him  up,  blanket 
and  all,  and  was  affecting  to  toss  him  into  the  fire, 
"  let  go  o'  me,  you  d — d  old  fool,  d'  ye  hear  ? " 

Thus  adjured,  Dick  Bullen  lowered  Johnny  to 
the  ground  with  a  smothered  laugh,  while  the 
men,  entering  quietly,  ranged  themselves  around  a 
long  table  of  rough  boards  which  occupied  the 
centre  of  the  room.  Johnny  then  gravely  pro- 


HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB.      63 

ceeded  to  a  cupboard  and  brought  out  several  arti- 
cles which  he  deposited  on  the  table.  "Thar's 
whiskey.  And  crackers.  And  red  herons.  And 
cheese."  He  took  a  bite  of  the  latter  on  his  way 
to  the  table.  "And  sugar."  He  scooped  up  a 
mouthful  en  route  with  a  small  and  very  dirty 
hand.  "  And  terbacker.  Thar 's  dried  appils  too 
on  the  shelf,  but  I  don't  admire  'em.  Appils  is 
swellin'.  Thar,"  he  concluded,  "now  wade  in, 
and  don't  be  afeard.  /  don't  mind  the  old  wo- 
man. She  don't  b'long  to  me.  S'long." 

He  had  stepped  to  the  threshold  of  a  small 
room,  scarcely  larger  than  a  closet,  partitioned  off 
from  the  main  apartment,  and  holding  in  its  dim 
recess  a  small  bed.  He  stood  there  a  moment 
looking  at  the  company,  his  bare  feet  peeping  from 
the  blanket,  and  nodded. 

"  Hello,  Johnny !  You  ain't  goin'  to  turn  in 
agin,  are  ye  ? "  said  Dick. 

"  Yes,  I  are,"  responded  Johnny,  decidedly. 

"  Why,  wot  >  up,  old  feUow  ? " 

"I'm  sick." 

"How  sick?" 

"  I  Ve  got  a  fevier.  And  childblains.  And  roo- 
matiz,"  returned  Johnny,  and  vanished  within. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  he  added  in  the  dark, 
apparently  from  under  the  bedclothes, — -"And 
biles ! " 

There  wa?  an  embarrassing  silence.     The  men 


64       HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR. 

looked  at  each  other,  and  at  the  fire.  Even  with 
the  appetizing  banquet  before  them,  it  seemed  as 
if  they  might  again  fall  into  the  despondency  of 
Thompson's  grocery,  when  the  voice  of  the  Old 
Man,  incautiously  lifted,  came  deprecatingly  from 
the  kitchen. 

"  Certainly  !  Thet  's  so.  In  course  they  is.  A 
gang  o'  lazy  drunken  loafers,  and  that  ar  Dick 
Bullen  's  the  ornariest  of  all.  Did  n't  hev  no  more 
sabe  than  to  come  round  yar  with  sickness  in  the 
house  and  no  provision.  Thet 's  what  I  said : 
'  Bullen/  sez  I,  '  it 's  crazy  drunk  you  are,  or  a 
fool/  sez  I, '  to  think  o'  such  a  thing/  '  Staples/  I 
sez,  'be  you  a  man,  Staples,  and  'spect  to  raise 
h — 11  under  my  roof  and  invalids  lyin'  round  ? ' 
But  they  would  come,  —  they  would.  Thet 's  wot 
you  must  'spect  o'  such  trash  as  lays  round  the 
Bar." 

A  burst  of  laughter  from  the  men  followed  this 
unfortunate  exposure.  "Whether  it  was  overheard 
in  the  kitchen,  or  whether  the  Old  Man's  irate 
companion  had  just  then  exhausted  all  other  modes 
of  expressing  her  contemptuous  indignation,  I  can- 
not say,  but  a  back  door  was  suddenly  slammed 
with  great  violence.  A  moment  later  and  the  Old 
Man  reappeared,  haply  unconscious  of  the  cause  of 
the  late  hilarious  outburst,  and  smiled  blandly. 

"  The  old  woman  thought  she  'd  jest  run  over  to 
Mrs  McFadden's  for  a  sociable  call/'  he  explained, 


HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB.      65 

with  jaunty  indifference,  as  he  took  a  seat  at  the 
board. 

Oddly  enough  it  needed  this  untoward  incident 
to  relieve  the  embarrassment  that  was  beginning 
to  be  felt  by  the  party,  and  their  natural  audacity 
returned  with  their  host.  I  do  not  propose  to 
record  the  convivialities  of  that  evening.  The  in- 
quisitive reader  will  accept  the  statement  that  the 
conversation  was  characterized  by  the  same  intel- 
lectual exaltation,  the  same  cautious  reverence,  the 
same  fastidious  delicacy,  the  same  rhetorical  pre- 
cision, and  the  same  logical  and  coherent  discourse 
somewhat  later  in  the  evening,  which  distinguish 
similar  gatherings  of  the  masculine  sex  in  mor^ 
civilized  localities  and  under  more  favorable  aus- 
pices. No  glasses  were  broken  in  the  absence  of 
any ;  no  liquor  was  uselessly  spilt  on  floor  or  tabl* 
in  the  scarcity  of  that  article. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  the  festivities 
were  interrupted.  "Hush,"  said  Dick  BulleD, 
holding  up  his  hand.  It  was  the  querulous  voice 
of  Johnny  from  his  adjacent  closet :  "  0  dad  !  " 

The  Old  Man  arose  hurriedly  and  disappeared 
in  the  closet.  Presently  he  reappeared.  "His 
rheumatiz  is  coming  on  agin  bad,"  he  explained, 
"  and  he  wants  rubbin'."  He  lifted  the  demijohn 
of  whiskey  from  the  table  and  shook  it.  It  was 
empty.  Dick  Bullen  put  down  his  tin  cup  with 
an  embarrassed  laugh.  So  did  the  others.  The 


66       HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB. 

Old  Man  examined  their  contents  and  said  hope« 
fully,  "I  reckon  that 's  enough;  he  don't  need  much. 
You  hold  on  all  o'  you  for  a  spell,  and  I  '11  be 
back  "  ;  and  vanished  in  the  closet  with  an  old 
flannel  shirt  and  the  whiskey.  The  door  closed 
but  imperfectly,  and  the  following  dialogue  was 
distinctly  audible :  — 

"Now,  sonny,  whar  does  she  ache  worst  ?" 

"  Sometimes  over  yar  and  sometimes  under  yer ; 
but  it 's  most  powerful  from  yer  to  yer.  Kub  yer, 
dad." 

A  silence  seemed  to  indicate  a  brisk  rubbing. 
Then  Johnny : 

"  Hevin'  a  good  time  out  yer,  dad  ? " 

"Yes,  sonny." 

"  To-morrer  's  Chrismiss,  —  ain't  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  sonny.     How  does  she  feel  now  ? " 

"  Better.  Eub  a  little  furder  down.  Wot's 
Chrismiss,  anyway  ?  Wot 's  it  all  about  ? " 

"0,  it's  a  day." 

This  exhaustive  definition  was  apparently  satis- 
factory, for  there  was  a  silent  interval  of  rubbing. 
Presently  Johnny  again : 

"  Mar  sez  that  everywhere  else  but  yer  every- 
body gives  things  to  everybody  Chrismiss,  and 
then  she  jist  waded  inter  you.  She  sez  thar  's  a 
man  they  call  Sandy  Claws,  not  a  white  man,  you 
know,  but  a  kind  o'  Chinemin,  comes  down  the 
chimbley  night  afore  Chrismiss  and  gives  things 


HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB.      67 

to  chillern,  —  boys  like  me.  Puts  'em  in  their 
bates  !  Thet  's  what  she  tried  to  play  upon  me. 
Easy  now,  pop,  whar  are  you  rubbin'  to,  —  thet  's 
a  mile  from  the  place.  She  jest  made  that  up, 
did  n't  she,  jest  to  aggrewate  me  and  you  ?  Don't 
rub  thar.  ,  .  .  .Why,  dad!" 

In  the  great  quiet  that  seemed  to  have  fallen 
upon  the  house  the  sigh  of  the  near  pines  and  the 
drip  of  leaves  without  was  very  distinct.  John- 
ny's voice,  too,  was  lowered  as  he  went  on,  "  Don't 
you  take  on  now,  fur  I'm  gettin'  all  right  fast. 
Wot's  the  boys  doin'  out  thar?" 

The  Old  Man  partly  opened  the  door  and  peered 
through.  His  guests  were  sitting  there  sociably 
enough,  and  there  were  a  few  silver  coins  and  a 
lean  buckskin  purse  on  the  table.  "  Bettin'  on 
suthin,  —  some  little  game  or  'nother.  They're 
all  right/'  he  replied  to  Johnny,  and  recommenced 
his  rubbing. 

"  I  'd  like  to  take  a  hand  and  win  some  money," 
said  Johnny,  reflectively,  after  a  pause. 

The  Old  Man  glibly  repeated  what  was  evidently 
a  familiar  formula,  that  if  Johnny  would  wait  until 
he  struck  it  rich  in  the  tunnel  he  'd  have  lots  of 
money,  etc.,  etc. 

"Yes,"  said  Johnny,  "but  you  don't.  And 
whether  you  strike  it  or  I  win  it,  it 's  about  the 
same.  It's  all  luck.  But  it's  mighty  cur'o's 
about  Chrismiss,  —  ain't  it  ?  Why  do  they  call 
it  Chrismiss  ? " 


68       HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR. 

Perhaps  from  some  instinctive  deference  to  the 
overhearing  of  his  guests,  or  from  some  vague 
sense  of  incongruity,  the  Old  Man's  reply  was  so 
low  as  to  be  inaudible  beyond  the  room. 

"  Yes,"  said  Johnny,  with  some  slight  abatement 
of  interest,  "  I  Ve  heerd  o'  him  before.  Thar,  that 
'11  do,  dad.  I  don't  ache  near  so  bad  as  I  did. 
Now  wrap  me  tight  in  this  yer  blanket.  So. 
Now,"  he  added  in  a  muffled  whisper,  "  sit  down 
yer  by  me  till  I  go  asleep."  To  assure  himself  of 
obedience,  he  disengaged  one  hand  from  the  blan- 
ket and,  grasping  his  father's  sleeve,  again  com- 
posed himself  to  rest. 

For  some  moments  the  Old  Man  waited  patient- 
ly. Then  the  unwonted  stillness  of  the  house 
excited  his  curiosity,  and  without  moving  from 
the  bed,  he  cautiously  opened  the  door  with  his 
disengaged  hand,  and  looked  into  the  main  room. 
To  his  infinite  surprise  it  was  dark  and  deserted. 
But  even  then  a  smouldering  log  on  the  hearth 
broke,  and  by  the  upspringing  blaze  he  saw  the 
figure  of  Dick  Bullen  sitting  by  the  dying  embers. 

"Hello!" 

Dick  started,  rose,  and  came  somewhat  unstead- 
ily toward  him. 

"  Whar  's  the  boys  ? "  said  the  Old  Man. 

"  Gone  up  the  canon  on  a  little  pasear.  They  're 
coming  back  for  me  in  a  minit.  I'm  waitin' 
round  for  'em.  What  are  you  starin'  at,  Old  Man  ? " 


HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB.      69 

he  added  with  a  forced  laugh  ;  "  do  you  think  I  'm 
drunk  ? " 

The  Old  Man  might  have  been  pardoned  the 
supposition,  for  Dick's  eyes  were  humid  and  his 
face  flushed.  He  loitered  and  lounged  back  to 
the  chimney,  yawned,  shook  himself,  buttoned  up 
his  coat  and  laughed.  "  Liquor  ain't  so  plenty  as 
that,  Old  Man.  Now  don't  you  git  up,"  he  contin- 
ued, as  the  Old  Man  made  a  movement  to  release 
his  sleeve  from  Johnny's  hand.  "  Don't  you  mind 
manners.  Sit  jest  whar  you  be  ;  I  'm  goin'  in  a 
jiffy.  Thar,  that 's  them  now." 

There  was  a  low  tap  at  the  door.  Dick  Bullen 
opened  it  quickly,  nodded  "Good  night"  to  his 
host,  and  disappeared.  The  Old  Man  would  have 
followed  him  but  for  the  hand  that  still  uncon- 
sciously grasped  his  sleeve.  He  could  have  easily 
disengaged  it :  it  was  small,  weak,  and  emaciated. 
But  perhaps  because  it  was  small,  weak,  and  ema- 
ciated, he  changed  his  mind,  and,  drawing  his  chair 
closer  to  the  bed,  rested  his  head  upon  it.  In 
this  defenceless  attitude  the  potency  of  his  ear- 
Mer  potations  surprised  him.  The  room  flickered 
and  faded  before  his  eyes,  reappeared,  faded  again, 
went  out,  and  left  him  —  asleep. 

Meantime  Dick  Bullen,  closing  the  door,  con- 
fronted his  companions.  "  Are  you  ready  ?  "  said 
Staples.  "  Keady,"  said  Dick  ; "  what 's  the  time  ? " 
*  Past  twelve,"  was  the  reply ;  "  can  you  make  it  ? 


70       HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR. 

—  it 's  nigh  on  fifty  miles,  the  round  trip  hither 
and  yon."  "I  reckon,"  returned  Dick,  shortly. 
"  Whar  's  the  mare  ?  "  "  BiU  and  Jack  's  holdin' 
her  at  the  crossinV  "Let  'em  hold  on  a  minit 
longer,"  said  Dick. 

He  turned  and  re-entered  the  house  softly.  By 
the  light  of  the  guttering  candle  and  dying  fire  he 
saw  that  the  door  of  the  little  room  was  open.  He 
stepped  toward  it  on  tiptoe  and  looked  in.  The 
Old  Man  had  fallen  back  in  his  chair,  snoring,  his 
helpless  feet  thrust  out  in  a  line  with  his  collapsed 
shoulders,  and  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes.  Be- 
side him,  on  a  narrow  wooden  bedstead,  lay  John- 
ny, muffled  tightly  in  a  blanket  that  hid  all  save 
a  strip  of  forehead  and  a  few  curls  damp  with 
perspiration.  Dick  Bullen  made  a  step  forward, 
hesitated,  and  glanced  over  his  shoulder  into  the 
deserted  room.  Everything  was  quiet.  With  a 
sudden  resolution  he  parted  his  huge  mustaches 
with  both  hands  and  stooped  over  the  sleeping 
boy.  But  even  as  he  did  so  a  mischievous  blast, 
lying  in  wait,  swooped  down  the  chimney,  rekin^ 
died  the  hearth,  and  lit  up  the  room  with  a  shame> 
less  glow  from  which  Dick  fled  in  bashful  terror. 

His  companions  were  already  waiting  for  him 
at  the  crossing.  Two  of  them  were  struggling  in 
the  darkness  with  some  strange  misshapen  bulk, 
which  as  Dick  came  nearer  took  the  semblance  of 
a  great  yellow  horse. 


HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR.       71 

It  was  the  mare.  She  was  not  a  pretty  picture. 
From  her  Roman  nose  to  her  rising  haunches, 
from  her  arched  spine  hidden  by  the  stiff  machillas 
of  a  Mexican  saddle,  to  her  thick,  straight,  bony 
legs,  there  was  not  a  line  of  equine  grace.  In  her 
half-blind  but  wholly  vicious  white  eyes,  in  her 
protruding  under  lip,  in  her  monstrous  color,  there 
was  nothing  but  ugliness  and  vice. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Staples,  "  stand  cl'ar  of  her 
heels,  boys,  and  up  with  you.  Don't  miss  your 
first  holt  of  her  mane,  and  mind  ye  get  your  off 
stirrup  quick.  Ready  ! " 

There  was  a  leap,  a  scrambling  struggle,  a 
bound,  a  wild  retreat  of  the  crowd,  a  circle  of 
flying  hoofs,  two  springless  leaps  that  jarred  the 
earth,  a  rapid  play  and  jingle  of  spurs,  a  plunge, 
and  then  the  voice  of  Dick  somewhere  in  the 
darkness,  "  All  right ! " 

"  Don't  take  the  lower  road  back  onless  you  're 
hard  pushed  for  time !  Don't  hold  her  in  down 
hill !  We  '11  be  at  the  ford  at  five.  G'  lang  ! 
Hoopa !  Mula !  GO  ! " 

A  splash,  a  spark  struck  from  the  ledge  in  the 
road,  a  clatter  in  the  rocky  cut  beyond,  and  Dick 
was  gone. 

Sing,  0  Muse,  the  ride  of  Richard  Bullen  !  Sing, 
0  Muse  of  chivalrous  men !  the  sacred  quest,  the 
doughty  deeds,  the  battery  of  low  churls,  the  fear- 


72       HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR. 

some  ride  and  grewsome  perils  of  the  Flower  of 
Simpson's  Bar !  Alack  !  she  is  dainty,  this  Muse ! 
She  will  have  none  of  this  bucking  brute  and 
swaggering,  ragged  rider,  and  I  must  fain  follow 
him  in  prose,  afoot ! 

It  was  one  o'clock,  and  yet  he  had  only  gained 
Eattlesnake  Hill.  For  in  that  time  Jovita  had  re- 
hearsed to  him  all  her  imperfections  and  practised 
all  her  vices.  Thrice  had  she  stumbled.  Twice 
had  she  thrown  up  her  Roman  nose  in  a  straight 
line  with  the  reins,  and,  resisting  bit  and  spur, 
struck  out  madly  across  country.  Twice  had  she 
reared,  and,  rearing,  fallen  backward;  and  twice 
had  the  agile  Dick,  unharmed,  regained  his  seat 
before  she  found  her  vicious  legs  again.  And  a 
mile  beyond  them,  at  the  foot  of  a  long  hill,  was 
Rattlesnake  Creek.  Dick  knew  that  here  was  the 
crucial  test  of  his  ability  to  perform  his  enterprise, 
set  his  teeth  grimly,  put  his  knees  well  into  her 
flanks,  and  changed  his  defensive  tactics  to  brisk 
aggression.  Bullied  and  maddened,  Jovita  began 
the  descent  of  the  hill.  Here  the  artful  Richard 
pretended  to  hold  her  in  with  ostentatious  objur- 
gation and  well-feigned  cries  of  alarm.  It  is  un- 
necessary to  add  that  Jovita  instantly  ran  away. 
Nor  need  I  state  the  time  made  in  the  descent ;  it 
is  written  in  the  chronicles  of  Simpson's  Bar. 
Enough  that  in  another  moment,  as  it  seemed  to 
Dick,  she  was  splashing  on  the  overflowed  banks 


HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB.       73 

of  Rattlesnake  Creek.  As  Dick  expected,  the 
momentum  she  had  acquired  carried  her  beyond 
the  point  of  balking,  and,  holding  her  well  together 
for  a  mighty  leap,  they  dashed  into  the  middle  of 
the  swiftly  flowing  current.  A  few  moments  of 
kicking,  wading,  and  swimming,  and  Dick  drew  a 
long  breath  on  the  opposite  bank. 

The  road  from  Eattlesnake  Creek  to  Red  Moun- 
tain was  tolerably  level.  Either  the  plunge  in 
Rattlesnake  Creek  had  dampened  her  baleful  fire, 
or  the  art  which  led  to  it  had  shown  her  the  supe- 
rior wickedness  of  her  rider,  for  Jovita  no  longer 
wasted  her  surplus  energy  in  wanton  conceits. 
Once  she  bucked,  but  it  was  from  force  of  habit ; 
once  she  shied,  but  it  was  from  a  new  freshly 
painted  meeting-house  at  the  crossing  of  the  county 
road.  Hollows,  ditches,  gravelly  deposits,  patches 
of  freshly  springing  grasses,  flew  from  beneath  her 
rattling  hoofs.  She  began  to  smell  unpleasantly, 
once  or  twice  she  coughed  slightly,  but  there  was 
no  abatement  of  her  strength  or  speed.  By  two 
o'clock  he  had  passed  Red  Mountain  and  begun 
the  descent  to  the  plain.  Ten  minutes  later  the 
driver  of  the  fast  Pioneer  coach  was  overtaken  and 
passed  by  a  "  man  on  a  Pinto  hoss,"  —  an  event 
sufficiently  notable  for  remark.  At  half  past  two 
Dick  rose  in  his  stirrups  with  a  great  shout. 
Stars  were  glittering  through  the  rifted  clouds,  and 
beyond  him,  out  of  the  plain,  rose  two  spires,  a 


74       HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB. 

flagstaff,  and  a  straggling  line  of  black  objects. 
Dick  jingled  his  spurs  and  swung  his  riata,  Jovita 
bounded  forward,  and  in  another  moment  they 
swept  into  Tuttleville  and  drew  up  before  the 
wooden  piazza  of  "  The  Hotel  of  All  Nations." 

What  transpired  that  night  at  Tuttleville  is  not 
strictly  a  part  of  this  record.  Briefly  I  may  state, 
however,  that  after  Jovita  had  been  handed  over 
to  a  sleepy  ostler,  whom  she  at  once  kicked  into 
unpleasant  consciousness,  Dick  sallied  out  with 
the  bar-keeper  for  a  tour  of  the  sleeping  town. 
Lights  still  gleamed  from  a  few  saloons  and  gam- 
bling-houses;  but,  avoiding  these,  they  stopped 
before  several  closed  shops,  and  by  persistent  tap- 
ping and  judicious  outcry  roused  the  proprietors 
from  their  beds,  and  made  them  unbar  the  doors 
of  their  magazines  and  expose  their  wares.  Some- 
times they  were  met  by  curses,  but  oftener  by  in- 
terest and  some  concern  in  their  needs,  and  the 
interview  was  invariably  concluded  by  a  drink. 
It  was  three  o'clock  before  this  pleasantry  was 
given  over,  and  with  a  small  waterproof  bag  of 
india-rubber  strapped  on  his  shoulders  Dick  re- 
turned to  the  hotel  But  here  he  was  waylaid  by 
Beauty,  —  Beauty  opulent  in  charms,  affluent  ii 
dress,  persuasive  in  speech,  and  Spanish  in  accent 
In  vain  she  repeated  the  invitation  in  "  Excelsior, 
happily  scorned  by  all  Alpine-climbing  youth,  and 
rejected  by  this  child  of  the  Sierras,  —  a  rejection 


HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR.      75 

softened  in  this  instance  by  a  laugh  and  his  last 
gold  coin.  And  then  he  sprang  to  the  saddle  and 
dashed  down  the  lonely  street  and  out  into  the 
lonelier  plain,  where  presently  the  lights,  the  black 
line  of  houses,  the  spires,  and  the  flagstaff  sank 
into  the  earth  behind  him  again  and  were  lost  in 
the  distance. 

The  storm  had  cleared  away,  the  air  was  brisk 
and  cold,  the  outlines  of  adjacent  landmarks  were 
distinct,  but  it  was  half  past  four  before  Dick 
reached  the  meeting-house  and  the  crossing  of  the 
county  road.  To  avoid  the  rising  grade  he  had 
taken  a  longer  and  more  circuitous  road,  in  whose 
viscid  mud  Jovita  sank  fetlock  deep  at  every 
bound.  It  was  a  poor  preparation  for  a  steady 
ascent  of  five  miles  more ;  but  Jovita,  gathering 
her  legs  under  her,  took  it  with  her  usual  blind, 
unreasoning  fury,  and  a  half-hour  later  reached 
the  long  level  that  led  to  Eattlesnake  Creek.  An- 
other half-hour  would  bring  him  to  the  creek.  He 
threw  the  reins  lightly  upon  the  neck  of  the  mare, 
chirruped  to  her,  and  began  to  sing. 

Suddenly  Jovita  shied  with  a  bound  that  would 
have  unseated  a  less  practised  rider.  Hanging  to 
her  rein  was  a  figure  that  had  leaped  from  the 
bank,  and  at  the  same  time  from  the  road  before 
her  arose  a  shadowy  horse  and  rider.  "  Throw  up 
your  hands,"  commanded  this  second  apparition, 
with  an  oath. 


76       HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB. 

Dick  felt  the  mare  tremble,  quiver,  and  appar- 
ently sink  under  him.  He  knew  what  it  meant 
and  was  prepared. 

"  Stand  aside,  Jack  Simpson,  I  know  you,  you 
d— d  thief.  Let  me  pass  or  —  " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  Jovita  rose 
straight  in  the  air  with  a  terrific  bound,  throwing 
the  figure  from  her  bit  with  a  single  shake  of  her 
vicious  head,  and  charged  with  deadly  malevolence 
down  on  the  impediment  before  her.  An  oath,  a 
pistol-shot,  horse  and  highwayman  rolled  over  in 
the  road,  and  the  next  moment  Jovita  was  a  hun- 
dred yards  away.  But  the  good  right  arm  of  her 
rider,  shattered  by  a  bullet,  dropped  helplessly  at 
his  side. 

Without  slacking  his  speed  he  shifted  the  reins 
to  his  left  hand.  But  a  few  moments  later  he  was 
obliged  to  halt  and  tighten  the  saddle-girths  that 
had  slipped  in  the  onset.  This  in  his  crippled 
condition  took  some  time.  He  had  no  fear  of 
pursuit,  but  looking  up  he  saw  that  the  eastern 
stars  were  already  paling,  and  that  the  distant 
peaks  had  lost  their  ghostly  whiteness,  and  now 
stood  out  blackly  against  a  lighter  sky.  Day  was 
upon  him.  Then  completely  absorbed  in  a  single 
idea,  he  forgot  the  pain  of  his  wound,  and  mount- 
ing again  dashed  on  toward  Eattlesnake  Creek. 
But  now  Jovita's  breath  came  broken  by  gasps, 
Dick  reeled  in  his  saddle,  and  brighter  and  brighter 
grew  the  sky. 


HOW  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB.      77 

Eide,  Kichard ;  run,  Jo  vita ;  linger,  O  day  ! 

For  the  last  few  rods  there  was  a  roaring  in  his 
ears.  Was  it  exhaustion  from  loss  of  blood,  or 
what?  He  was  dazed  and  giddy  as  he  swept 
down  the  hill,  and  did  not  recognize  his  surround- 
ings. Had  he  taken  the  wrong  road,  or  was  this 
Eattlesnake  Creek  ? 

It  was.  But  the  brawling  creek  he  had  swam 
a  few  hours  before  had  risen,  more  than  doubled 
its  volume,  and  now  rolled  a  swift  and  resistless 
river  between  him  and  Rattlesnake  Hill.  For  the 
first  time  that  night  Richard's  heart  sank  within 
him.  The  river,  the  mountain,  the  quickening 
east,  swam  before  his  eyes.  He  shut  them  to 
recover  his  self-control.  In  that  brief  interval,  by 
some  fantastic  mental  process,  the  little  room  at 
Simpson's  Bar  and  the  figures  of  the  sleeping 
father  and  son  rose  upon  him.  He  opened  his 
eyes  wildly,  cast  off  his  coat,  pistol,  boots,  and 
saddle,  bound  his  precious  pack  tightly  to  his 
shoulders,  grasped  the  bare  flanks  of  Jovita  with 
his  bared  knees,  and  with  a  shout  dashed  into  the 
yellow  water.  A  cry  rose  from  the  opposite  bank 
as  the  head  of  a  man  and  horse  struggled  for  a  few 
moments  against  the  battling  current,  and  then 
were  swept  away  amidst  uprooted  trees  and 
whirling  drift-wood. 

The  Old  Man  started  and  woke.     The  fire  on 


78       HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB. 

the  hearth  was  dead,  the  candle  in  the  outer  room 
flickering  in  its  socket,  and  somebody  was  rapping 
at  the  door.  He  opened  it,  but  fell  back  with  a 
cry  before  the  dripping,  half-naked  figure  that 
reeled  against  the  doorpost. 

"Dick?" 

"  Hush !    Is  he  awake  yet  ? " 

"  No,  —  but,  Dick  ?  —  " 

"  Dry  up,  you  old  fool !  Get  me  some  whiskey 
quick  !  "  The  Old  Man  flew  and  returned  with  — 
an  empty  bottle  !  Dick  would  have  sworn,  but 
his  strength  was  not  equal  to  the  occasion.  He 
staggered,  caught  at  the  handle  of  the  door,  and 
motioned  to  the  Old  Man. 

"  Thar 's  suthin'  in  my  pack  yer  for  Johnny. 
Take  it  off.  I  can't." 

The  Old  Man  unstrapped  the  pack  and  laid  it 
before  the  exhausted  man. 

"  Open  it,  quick ! " 

He  did  so  with  trembling  fingers.  It  contained 
only  a  few  poor  toys,  —  cheap  and  barbaric  enough, 
goodness  knows,  but  bright  with  paint  and  tinsel 
One  of  them  was  broken;  another,  I  fear,  was 
irretrievably  ruined  by  water ;  and  on  the  third  — 
ah  me  !  there  was  a  cruel  spot. 

"  It  don't  look  like  much,  that 's  a  fact,"  said 

^ick,  ruefully "  But  it 's  the  best  we  could 

do Take  'em,  Old  Man,  and  put  'em  in  his 

stocking,  and  tell  him  —  tell  him,  you  know  — 


HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAB.       79 

hold  me,  Old  Man  —  "  The  Old  Man  caught  at 
his  sinking  figure.  "  Tell  him,"  said  Dick,  with  a 
weak  little  laugh,  —  "tell  him  Sandy  Ckus  has 
come." 

And  even  so,  bedraggled,  ragged,  unshaven,  and 
unshorn,  with  one  arm  hanging  helplessly  at  his 
side,  Santa  Glaus  came  to  Simpson's  Bar  and  fell 
fainting  on  the  first  threshold.  The  Christmas 
dawn  came  slowly  after,  touching  the  remoter 
peaks  with  the  rosy  warmth  of  ineffable  love. 
And  it  looked  so  tenderly  on  Simpson's  Bar  that 
the  whole  mountain,  as  if  caught  in  a  generous 
action,  blushed  to  the  skies. 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FBIENDS. 

SHE  was  a  Klamath  Indian.  Her  title  was,  I 
think,  a  compromise  between  her  claim  as 
daughter  of  a  chief,  and  gratitude  to  her  earliest 
white  protector,  whose  name,  after  the  Indian  fash- 
ion, she  had  adopted.  "  Bob  "  Walker  had  taken 
her  from  the  breast  of  her  dead  mother  at  a  time 
when  the  sincere  volunteer  soldiery  of  the  Califor- 
nia frontier  were  impressed  with  the  belief  that 
extermination  was  the  manifest  destiny  of  the  In- 
dian race.  He  had  with  difficulty  restrained  the 
noble  zeal  of  his  compatriots  long  enough  to  con- 
vince them  that  the  exemption  of  one  Indian  baby 
would  not  invalidate  this  theory.  And  he  took 
her  to  his  home,  —  a  pastoral  clearing  on  the  banks 
of  the  Salmon  River,  —  where  she  was  cared  for 
after  a  frontier  fashion. 

Before  she  was  nine  years  old,  she  had  exhausted 
the  scant  kindliness  of  the  thin,  overworked  Mrs. 
Walker.  As  a  playfellow  of  the  young  Walkers 
she  was  unreliable ;  as  a  nurse  for  the  baby  she 
was  inefficient.  She  lost  the  former  in  the  track- 
less depths  of  a  redwood  forest ;  she  basely  aban- 
doned the  latter  in  an  extemporized  cradle,  hang- 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.    81 

ing  like  a  chrysalis  to  a  convenient  bough.  She 
lied  and  she  stole,  —  two  unpardonable  sins  in  a 
frontier  community,  where  truth  was  a  necessity 
and  provisions  were  the  only  property.  Worse 
than  this,  the  outskirts  of  the  clearing  were  some- 
times haunted  by  blanketed  tatterdemalions  with 
whom  she  had  mysterious  confidences.  Mr. 
Walker  more  than  once  regretted  his  indiscreet 
humanity ;  but  she  presently  relieved  him  of  re- 
sponsibility, and  possibly  of  bloodguiltiness,  by 
disappearing  entirely. 

When  she  reappeared,  it  was  at  the  adjacent 
village  of  Logport,  in  the  capacity  of  housemaid  to 
a  trader's  wife,  who,  joining  some  little  culture  to 
considerable  conscientiousness,  attempted  to  in- 
struct her  charge.  But  the  Princess  proved  an  un- 
satisfactory pupil  to  even  so  liberal  a  teacher.  She 
accepted  the  alphabet  with  great  good-humor,  but 
always  as  a  pleasing  and  recurring  novelty,  in 
which  all  interest  expired  at  the  completion  of 
each  lesson.  She  found  a  thousand  uses  for  her 
books  and  writing  materials  other  than  those 
known  to  civilized  children.  She  made  a  curious 
necklace  of  bits  of  slate-pencil,  she  constructed  a 
miniature  canoe  from  the  pasteboard  covers  of  her 
primer,  she  bent  her  pens  into  fish-hooks,  and  tat- 
tooed the  faces  of  her  younger  companions  with 
blue  ink.  Eeligious  instruction  she  received  as 
good-humoredly,  and  learned  to  pronounce  the 

4* 


82         THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER   FRIENDS. 

name  of  the  Deity  with  a  cheerful  familiarity  that 
shocked  her  preceptress.  Nor  could  her  reverence 
be  reached  through  analogy ;  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  Great  Spirit,  and  professed  entire  ignorance  of 
the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds.  Yet  she  attended 
divine  service  regularly,  and  as  regularly  asked 
for  a  hymn-book ;  and  it  was  only  through  the 
discovery  that  she  had  collected  twenty-five  of 
these  volumes  and  had  hidden  them  behind  the 
woodpile,  that  her  connection  with  the  First  Bap- 
tist Church  of  Logport  ceased.  She  would  occa- 
sionally abandon  these  civilized  and  Christian 
privileges,  and  disappear  from  her  home,  returning 
after  several  days  of  absence  with  an  odor  of  bark 
and  fish,  and  a  peace-offering  to  her  mistress  in 
the  shape  of  venison  or  game. 

To  add  to  her  troubles,  she  was  now  fourteen, 
and,  according  to  the  laws  of  her  race,  a  woman. 
I  do  not  think  the  most  romantic  fancy  would 
have  called  her  pretty.  Her  complexion  defied 
most  of  those  ambiguous  similes  through  which 
poets  unconsciously  apologize  for  any  deviation 
from  the  Caucasian  standard.  It  was  not  wine 
nor  amber  colored;  if  anything,  it  was  smoky. 
Her  face  was  tattooed  with  red  and  white  lines  on 
one  cheek,  as  if  a  fine-toothed  comb  had  been 
drawn  from  cheek-bone  to  jaw,  and,  but  for  the 
good-humor  that  beamed  from  her  small  berry-like 
eyes  and  shone  in  her  white  teeth,  would  have 


THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND   HER   FRIENDS.          83 

been  repulsive.  She  was  short  and  stout.  In 
her  scant  drapery  and  unrestrained  freedom  she 
was  hardly  statuesque,  and  her  more  unstudied 
attitudes  were  marred  by  a  simian  habit  of  softly 
scratching  her  left  ankle  with  the  toes  of  her  right 
foot,  in  moments  of  contemplation. 

I  think  I  have  already  shown  enough  to  indi- 
cate the  incongruity  of  her  existence  with  even 
the  low  standard  of  civilization  that  obtained  at 
Logport  in  the  year  1860.  It  needed  but  one 
more  fact  to  prove  the  far-sighted  political  sagacity 
and  prophetic  ethics  of  those  sincere  advocates  of 
extermination,  to  whose  virtues  I  have  done  but 
scant  justice  in  the  beginning  of  this  article.  This 
fact  was  presently  furnished  by  the  Princess. 
After  one  of  her  periodical  disappearances,  —  this 
time  unusually  prolonged,  —  she  astonished  Log- 
port  by  returning  with  a  half-breed  baby  of  a  week 
old  in  her  arms.  That  night  a  meeting  of  the 
hard-featured  serious  matrons  of  Logport  was  held 
at  Mrs.  Brown's.  The  immediate  banishment  of 
the  Princess  was  demanded.  Soft-hearted  Mrs. 
Brown  endeavored  vainly  to  get  a  mitigation  or 
suspension  of  the  sentence.  But,  as  on  a  former 
occasion,  the  Princess  took  matters  into  her  own 
hands.  A  few  mornings  afterwards,  a  wicker 
cradle  containing  an  Indian  baby  was  found  hang- 
ing on  the  handle  of  the  door  of  the  First  Baptist 
Church.  It  was  the  Parthian  arrow  of  the  flying 


84         THE  PRINCESS  BOB   AND  HER   FRIENDS. 

Princess.     From  that  day  Logport  knew  her  no 
more. 

It  had  been  a  bright  clear  day  on  the  upland,  so 
clear  that  the  ramparts  of  Fort  Jackson  and  the 
flagstaff  were  plainly  visible  twelve  miles  away 
from  the  long  curving  peninsula  that  stretched  a 
bared  white  arm  around  the  peaceful  waters  of 
Logport  Bay.  It  had  been  a  clear  day  upon  the 
sea-shore,  albeit  the  air  was  filled  with  the  flying 
spume  and  shifting  sand  of  a  straggling  beach 
whose  low  dunes  were  dragged  down  by  the  long 
surges  of  the  Pacific  and  thrown  up  again  by  the 
tumultuous  trade-winds.  But  the  sun  had  gone 
down  in  a  bank  of  fleecy  fog  that  was  beginning 
to  roll  in  upon  the  beach.  Gradually  the  head- 
land at  the  entrance  of  the  harbor  and  the  light- 
house disappeared,  then  the  willow  fringe  that 
marked  the  line  of  Salmon  Eiver  vanished,  and 
the  ocean  was  gone.  A  few  sails  still  gleamed  on 
the  waters  of  the  bay ;  but  the  advancing  fog 
wiped  them  out  one  by  one,  crept  across  the  steel- 
blue  expanse,  swallowed  up  the  white  mills  and 
single  spire  of  Logport,  and,  joining  with  reinforce-, 
ments  from  the  marshes,  moved  solemnly  upon 
the  hills.  Ten  minutes  more  and  the  landscape 
was  utterly  blotted  out ;  simultaneously  the  wind 
died  away,  and  a  death-like  silence  stole  over  sea 
and  shore.  The  faint  clang,  high  overhead,  of  un* 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.    85 

seen  brent,  the  nearer  call  of  invisible  plover,  the 
lap  and  wash  of  ^indistinguishable  waters,  and  the 
monotonous  roll  of  the  vanished  ocean,  were  the 
only  sounds.  As  night  deepened,  the  far-off 
booming  of  the  fog-bell  on  the  headland  at  inter- 
vals stirred  the  thick  air. 

Hard  by  the  shore  of  the  bay,  and  half  hidden 
by  a  drifting  sand-hill,  stood  a  low  nondescript 
structure,  to  whose  composition  sea  and  shore  had 
equally  contributed.  It  was  built  partly  of  logs 
and  partly  of  driftwood  and  tarred  canvas.  Joined 
to  one  end  of  the  main  building  —  the  ordinary 
log-cabin  of  the  settler  —  was  the  half-round  pilot- 
house of  some  wrecked  steamer,  while  the  other 
gable  terminated  in  half  of  a  broken  whale-boat. 
Nailed  against  the  boat  were  the  dried  skins  of 
wild  animals,  and  scattered  about  lay  the  flotsam 
and  jetsam  of  many  years'  gathering,  —  bamboo 
crates,  casks,  hatches,  blocks,  oars,  boxes,  part  of  a 
whale's  vertebrae,  and  the  blades  of  sword-fish. 
Drawn  up  on  the  beach  of  a  little  cove  before  the 
house  lay  a  canoe.  As  the  night  thickened  and 
the  fog  grew  more  dense,  these  details  grew  imper- 
ceptible, and  only  the  windows  of  the  pilot-house, 
lit  up  by  a  roaring  fire  within  the  hut,  gleamed 
redly  through  the  mist. 

By  this  fire,  beneath  a  ship's  lamp  that  swung 
from  the  roof,  two  figures  were  seated,  a  man  and 
a  woman.  The  man,  broad-shouldered  and  heav- 


86         THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HEB  FRIENDS. 

ily  bearded,  stretched  his  listless  powerful  length 
beyond  a  broken  bamboo  chair,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  fire.  The  woman  crouched  cross-legged 
upon  the  broad  earthen  hearth,  with  her  eyes 
blinkingly  fixed  on  her  companion.  They  were 
small,  black,  round,  berry-like  eyes,  and  as  the 
firelight  shone  upon  her  smoky  face,  with  its 
one  striped  cheek  of  gorgeous  brilliancy,  it  was 
plainly  the  Princess  Bob  and  no  other. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken.  They  had  been  sitting 
thus  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  there  was  about 
their  attitude  a  suggestion  that  silence  was  habit- 
ual. Once  or  twice  the  man  rose  and  walked  up 
and  down  the  narrow  room,  or  gazed  absently 
from  the  windows  of  the  pilot-house,  but  never 
by  look  or  sign  betrayed  the  slightest  conscious- 
ness of  his  companion.  At  such  times  the  Prin- 
cess from  her  nest  by  the  fire  followed  him  with 
eyes  of  canine  expectancy  and  wistfulness.  But 
he  would  as  inevitably  return  to  his  contemplation 
of  the  fire,  and  the  Princess  to  her  blinking  watch- 
fulness of  his  face. 

They  had  sat  there  silent  and  undisturbed  for 
many  an  evening  in  fair  weather  and  foul.  They 
had  spent  many  a  day  in  sunshine  and  storm, 
gathering  the  unclaimed  spoil  of  sea  and  shore. 
They  had  kept  these  mute  relations,  varied  only 
by  the  incidents  of  the  hunt  or  meagre  household 
duties,  for  three  years,  ever  since  the  man,  wan- 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.    87 

dering  moodily  over  the  lonely  sands,  had  fallen 
upon  the  half-starved  woman  lying  in  the  little 
hollow  where  she  had  crawled  to  die.  It  had 
seemed  as  if  they  would  never  be  disturbed, 
until  now,  when  the  Princess  started,  and,  with 
the  instinct  of  her  race,  bent  her  ear  to  the 
ground. 

The  wind  had  risen  and  was  rattling  the  tarred 
canvas.  But  in  another  moment  there  plainly 
came  from  without  the  hut  the  sound  of  voices. 
Then  followed  a  rap  at  the  door ;  then  another  rap ; 
and  then,  before  they  could  rise  to  their  feet,  the 
door  was  flung  briskly  open. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  a  pleasant  but  some- 
what decided  contralto  voice,  "  but  I  don't  think 
you  heard  me  knock.  Ah,  I  see  you  did  not. 
May  I  come  in  ? " 

There  was  no  reply.  Had  the  battered  figure- 
head of  the  Goddess  of  Liberty,  which  lay  deeply 
embedded  in  the  sand  on  the  beach,  suddenly 
appeared  at  the  door  demanding  admittance,  the 
occupants  of  the  cabin  could  not  have  been  more 
speechlessly  and  hopelessly  astonished  than  at  the 
form  which  stood  in  the  open  doorway. 

It  was  that  of  a  slim,  shapely,  elegantly  dressed 
young  woman.  A  scarlet-lined  silken  hood  was 
half  thrown  back  from  the  shining  mass  of  the 
black  hair  that  covered  her  small  head  ;  from  her 
pretty  shoulders  dropped  a  fur  cloak,  only  re- 


88    THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS. 

strained  by  a  cord  and  tassel  in  her  small  gloved 
hand.  Around  her  full  throat  was  a  double  neck- 
lace of  large  white  beads,  that  by  some  cunning 
feminine  trick  relieved  with  its  infantile  sugges- 
tion the  strong  decision  of  her  lower  face. 

"  Did  you  say  yes  ?  Ah,  thank  you.  We  may 
come  in,  Barker."  (Here  a  shadow  in  a  blue 
army  overcoat  followed  her  into  the  cabin,  touched 
its  cap  respectfully,  and  then  stood  silent  and 
erect  against  the  wall.)  "  Don't  disturb  yourself 
in  the  least,  I  beg.  What  a  distressingly  unpleas- 
ant night !  Is  this  your  usual  climate  ?  " 

Half  graciously,  half  absently  overlooking  the 
still  embarrassed  silence  of  the  group,  she  went 
on :  "  We  started  from  the  fort  over  three  hours 
ago,  —  three  hours  ago,  was  n't  it,  Barker  ? "  (the 
erect  Barker  touched  his  cap,)  — "  to  go  to  Cap- 
tain Emmons's  quarters  on  Indian  Island,  —  I 
think  you  call  it  Indian  Island,  don't  you  ? "  (she 
was  appealing  to  the  awe -stricken  Princess,)  — 
"  and  we  got  into  the  fog  and  lost  our  way  ;  that 
is,  Barker  lost  his  way,"  (Barker  touched  his  cap 
deprecatingly,)  "and  goodness  knows  where  we 
did  n't  wander  to  until  we  mistook  your  light  for 
the  lighthouse  and  pulled  up  here.  No,  no,  pray 
keep  your  seat,  do !  Eeally  I  must  insist." 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  languid  grace  of  the 
latter  part  of  this  speech,  —  nothing  except  the 
easy  unconsciousness  with  which  she  glided  by 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.    89 

the  offered  chair  of  her  stammering,  embarrassed 
host  and  stood  beside  the  open  hearth. 

"  Barker  will  tell  you,"  she  continued,  warming 
her  feet  by  the  fire,  "that  I  am  Miss  Portfire, 
daughter  of  Major  Portfire,  commanding  the  post. 
Ah,  excuse  me,  child  !  "  (She  had  accidentally  trod- 
den upon  the  bare  yellow  toes  of  the  Princess.) 
"  Really,  I  did  not  know  you  were  there.  I  am 
very  near-sighted."  (In  confirmation  of  her  state- 
ment, she  put  to  her  eyes  a  dainty  double  eye- 
glass that  dangled  from  her  neck.)  "  It 's  a  shock- 
ing thing  to  be  near-sighted,  is  n't  it  ? " 

If  the  shamefaced  uneasy  man  to  whom  this  re- 
mark was  addressed  could  have  found  words  to 
utter  the  thought  that  even  in  his  confusion  strug- 
gled uppermost  in  his  mind,  he  would,  looking  at 
the  bold,  dark  eyes  that  questioned  him,  have 
denied  the  fact.  But  he  only  stammered,  "  Yes." 
The  next  moment,  however,  Miss  Portfire  had  ap- 
parently forgotten  him  and  was  examining  the 
Princess  through  her  glass. 

"  And  what  is  your  name,  child  ? " 

The  Princess,  beatified  by  the  eyes  and  eye- 
glass, showed  all  her  white  teeth  at  once,  and  softly 
scratched  her  leg. 

"Bob." 

"  Bob  ?    What  a  singular  name  ! " 

Miss  Portfire's  host  here  hastened  to  explain  the 
origin  of  the  Princess's  title. 


90    THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS. 

"  Then  you  are  Bob."     (Eye-glass.) 

"No,  my  name  is  Grey,  —  John  Grey."  And 
he  actually  achieved  a  bow  where  awkwardness 
was  rather  the  air  of  imperfectly  recalling  a  for- 
gotten habit. 

"  Grey  ?  —  ah,  let  me  see.  Yes,  certainly.  You 
are  Mr.  Grey  the  recluse,  the  hermit,  the  philoso- 
pher, and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Why,  certainly ; 
Dr.  Jones,  our  surgeon,  has  told  me  all  about  you. 
Dear  me,  how  interesting  a  rencontre !  Lived  all 
alone  here  for  seven  —  was  it  seven  years  ?  —  yes, 
I  remember  now.  Existed  quite  au  naturel,  one 
might  say.  How  odd !  Not  that  I  know  any- 
thing about  that  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  I  Ve 
lived  always  among  people,  and  am  really  quite 
a  stranger,  I  assure  you.  But  honestly,  Mr. 
—  I  beg  your  pardon  —  Mr.  Grey,  how  do  you 
like  it  ? " 

She  had  quietly  taken  his  chair  and  thrown  her 
cloak  and  hood  over  its  back,  and  was  now  thought- 
fully removing  her  gloves.  Whatever  were  the 
arguments,  —  and  they  were  doubtless  many  and 
profound,  —  whatever  the  experience,  —  and  it 
was  doubtless  hard  and  satisfying  enough,  —  by 
which  this  unfortunate  man  had  justified  his  life 
for  the  last  seven  years,  somehow  they  suddenly 
became  trivial  and  terribly  ridiculous  before  this 
simple  but  practical  question. 

"  Well,  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  it  after  you 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.         91 

have  given  me  something  to  eat.  We  will  have 
time  enough ;  Barker  cannot  find  his  way  back 
in  this  fog  to-night.  Now  don't  put  yourselves 
to  any  trouble  on  my  account.  Barker  will  as- 
sist." 

Barker  came  forward.  Glad  to  escape  the  scru- 
tiny of  his  guest,  the  hermit  gave  a  few  rapid 
directions  to  the  Princess  in  her  native  tongue, 
and  disappeared  in  the  shed.  Left  a  moment 
alone,  Miss  Portfire  took  a  quick,  half-audible, 
feminine  inventory  of  the  cabin.  "Books,  guns, 
skins,  one  chair,  one  bed,  no  pictures,  and  no  look- 
ing-glass ! "  She  took  a  book  from  the  swinging 
shelf  and  resumed  her  seat  by  the  fire  as  the  Prin- 
cess re-entered  with  fresh  fuel.  But  while  kneel- 
ing on  the  hearth  the  Princess  chanced  to  look  up 
and  met  Miss  Portfire's  dark  eyes  over  the  edge 
of  her  book. 

"Bob!" 

The  Princess  showed  her  teeth. 

"  Listen.  Would  you  like  to  have  fine  clothes, 
rings,  and  beads  like  these,  to  have  your  hair  nicely 
combed  and  put  up  so  ?  Would  you  ? " 

The  Princess  nodded  violently. 

"Would  you  like  to  live  with  me  and  have 
them?  Answer  quickly.  Don't  look  round  for 
him.  Speak  for  yourself.  Would  you  ?  Hush ; 
never  mind  now." 

The  hermit  re-entered,  and  the  Princess,  blink- 


92    THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS 

ing,  retreated  into  the  shadow  of  the  whale-boat 
shed,  from  which  she  did  not  emerge  even  when 
the  homely  repast  of  cold  venison,  ship  biscuit, 
and  tea  was  served.  Miss  Portfire  noticed  her  ab- 
sence :  "  You  really  must  not  let  me  interfere  with 
your  usual  simple  ways.  Do  you  know  this  is 
exceedingly  interesting  to  me,  so  pastoral  and 
patriarchal  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  must 
insist  upon  the  Princess  coming  back;  really,  I 
must." 

But  the  Princess  was  not  to  be  found  in  the 
shed,  and  Miss  Portfire,  who  the  next  minute 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  all  about  her,  took  her 
place  in  the  single  chair  before  an  extemporized 
table.  Barker  stood  behind  her,  and  the  hermit 
leaned  against  the  fireplace.  Miss  Portfire's  appe- 
tite did  not  come  up  to  her  protestations.  For 
the  first  time  in  seven  years  it  occurred  to  the 
hermit  that  his  ordinary  victual  might  be  im- 
proved. He  stammered  out  something  to  that 
effect. 

"  I  have  eaten  better,  and  worse,"  said  Miss  Portx 
fire,  quietly. 

"  But  I  thought  you  —  that  is,  you  said  —  " 

"  I  spent  a  year  in  the  hospitals,  when  father 
was  on  the  Potomac,"  returned  Miss  Portfire,  com- 
posedly. After  a  pa.use  she  continued :  "You  re- 
member after  the  second  Bull  Eun  —  But,  dear 
me !  I  beg  your  pardon ;  of  course,  you  know 


THE  PKINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.    93 

nothing  about  the  war  and  all  that  sort  of  thing, 
and  don't  care."  (She  put  up  her  eye-glass  and 
quietly  surveyed  his  broad  muscular  figure  against 
the  chimney.)  "Or,  perhaps,  your  prejudices  — 
But  then,  as  a  hermit  you  know  you  have  no 
politics,  of  course.  Please  don't  let  me  bore  you." 

To  have  been  strictly  consistent,  the  hermit 
should  have  exhibited  no  interest  in  this  topic. 
Perhaps  it  was  owing  to  some  quality  in  the  nar- 
rator, but  he  was  constrained  to  beg  her  to  con- 
tinue in  such  phrases  as  his  unfamiliar  lips  could 
command.  So  that,  little  by  little,  Miss  Portfire 
yielded  up  incident  and  personal  observation  of  the 
contest  then  raging ;  with  the  same  half-abstracted, 
half-unconcerned  air  that  seemed  habitual  to  her, 
she  told  the  stories  of  privation,  of  suffering,  of  en- 
durance, and  of  sacrifice.  With  the  same  assump- 
tion of  timid  deference  that  concealed  her  great 
self-control,  she  talked  of  principles  and  rights. 
Apparently  without  enthusiasm  and  without  effort, 
of  which  his  morbid  nature  would  have  been  sus- 
picious, she  sang  the  great  American  Iliad  in  a 
way  that  stirred  the  depths  of  her  solitary  auditor 
to  its  massive  foundations.  Then  she  stopped  and 
asked  quietly,  "  Where  is  Bob  ? " 

The  hermit  started.  He  would  look  for  her. 
But  Bob,  for  some  reason,  was  not  forthcoming. 
Search  was  made  within  and  without  the  hut,  but 
in  vain.  For  the  first  time  that  evening  Miss 


94        THE   PRINCESS   BOB   AND   HER  FRIENDS. 

Portfire  showed  some  anxiety.  "  Go,"  she  said  to 
Barker,  "  and  find  her.  She  must  be  found ;  stay, 
give  me  your  overcoat,  I  '11  go  myself."  She  threw 
the  overcoat  over  her  shoulders  and  stepped  out 
into  the  night.  In  the  thick  veil  of  fog  that 
seemed  suddenly  to  inwrap  her,  she  stood  for  a 
moment  irresolute,  and  then  walked  toward  the 
beach,  guided  by  the  low  wash  of  waters  on  the 
sand.  She  had  not  taken  many  steps  before  she 
stumbled  over  some  dark  crouching  object.  Beach- 
ing down  her  hand  she  felt  the  coarse  wiry  mane 
of  the  Princess. 

"Bob!" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Bob.     I  've  been  looking  for  you,  come." 

«  Go  'way." 

"  Nonsense,  Bob.  I  want  you  to  stay  with  me 
to-night,  come." 

"  Injin  squaw  no  good  for  waugee  woman.  Go 
'way." 

"Listen,  Bob.  You  are  daughter  of  a  chief:  so 
am  I.  Your  father  had  many  warriors :  so  has 
mine.  It  is  good  that  you  stay  with  me.  Come." 

The  Princess  chuckled  and  suffered  herself  to 
be  lifted  up.  A  few  moments  later  and  they  re- 
entered  the  hut,  hand  in  hand. 

With  the  first  red  streaks  of  dawn  the  next  day 
the  erect  Barker  touched  his  cap  at  the  door  of 
the  hut.  Beside  him  stood  the  hermit,  also  just 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.    95 

risen  from  his  blanketed  nest  in  the  sand.  Forth 
from  the  hut,  fresh  as  the  morning  air,  stepped 
Miss  Portfire,  leading  the  Princess  by  the  hand. 
Hand  in  hand  also  they  walked  to  the  shore,  and 
when  the  Princess  had  been  safely  bestowed  in 
the  stern  sheets,  Miss  Portfire  turned  and  held  out 
her  own  to  her  late  host. 

"  I  shall  take  the  best  of  care  of  her,  of  course. 
You  will  come  and  see  her  often.  I  should  ask 
you  to  come  and  see  me,  but  you  are  a  hermit, 
you  know,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  But  if  it  'a 
the  correct  anchorite  thing,  and  can  be  done,  my 
father  will  be  glad  to  requite  you  for  this  night's 
hospitality.  But  don't  do  anything  on  my  account 
that  interferes  with  your  simple  habits.  Good 

by" 

She  handed  him  a  card,  which  he  took  mechan- 
ically. 

"  Good  by." 

The  sail  was  hoisted,  and  the  boat  shoved  off 
As  the  fresh  morning  breeze  caught  the  white  can- 
vas it  seemed  to  bow  a  parting  salutation.  There 
was  a  rosy  flush  of  promise  on  the  water,  and  as 
the  light  craft  darted  forward  toward  the  ascend- 
ing sun,  it  seemed  for  a  moment  uplifted  in  its 
glory. 

Miss  Portfire  kept  her  word.  If  thoughtful 
care  and  intelligent  kindness  could  regenerate  the 


96    THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS. 

Princess,  her  future  was  secure.  And  it  really 
seemed  as  if  she  were  for  the  first  time  inclined  to 
heed  the  lessons  of  civilization  and  profit  by  her 
new  condition.  An  agreeable  change  was  first 
noticed  in  her  appearance.  Her  lawless  hair  was 
caught  in  a  net,  and  no  longer  strayed  over  her 
low  forehead.  Her  unstable  bust  was  stayed  and 
upheld  by  French  corsets ;  her  plantigrade  shuffle 
was  limited  by  heeled  boots.  Her  dresses  were 
neat  and  clean,  and  she  wore  a  double  necklace  of 
glass  beads.  With  this  physical  improvement 
there  also  seemed  some  moral  awakening.  She  no 
longer  stole  nor  lied.  With  the  possession  of  per- 
sonal property  came  a  respect  for  that  of  others. 
With  increased  dependence  on  the  word  of  those 
about  her  came  a  thoughtful  consideration  of  her 
own.  Intellectually  she  was  still  feeble,  although 
she  grappled  sturdily  with  the  simple  lessons 
which  Miss  Portfire  set  before  her.  But  her  zeal 
and  simple  vanity  outran  her  discretion,  and  she 
would  often  sit  for  hours  with  an  open  book  be- 
fore her,  which  she  could  not  read.  She  was  a 
favorite  with  the  officers  at  the  fort,  from  the  Ma- 
jor, who  shared  his  daughter's  prejudices  and  often 
yielded  to  her  powerful  self-will,  to  the  subalterns, 
who  liked  her  none  the  less  that  their  natural 
enemies,  the  frontier  volunteers,  had  declared  war 
against  her  helpless  sisterhood.  The  only  re- 
straint put  upon  her  was  the  limitation  of  her  lib- 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.         97 

erty  to  the  enclosure  of  the  fort  and  parade ;  and 
only  once  did  she  break  this  parole,  and  was 
stopped  by  the  sentry  as  she  stepped  into  a  boat 
at  the  landing. 

The  recluse  did  not  avail  himself  of  Miss  Port- 
fire's invitation.  But  after  the  departure  of  the 
Princess  he  spent  less  of  his  time  in  the  hut,  and 
was  more  frequently  seen  in  the  distant  marshes 
of  Eel  Eiver  and  on  the  upland  hills.  A  feverish 
restlessness,  quite  opposed  to  his  usual  phlegm, 
led  him  into  singular  freaks  strangely  inconsist- 
ent with  his  usual  habits  and  reputation.  The 
purser  of  the  occasional  steamer  which  stopped 
at  Logport  with  the  mails  reported  to  have  been 
boarded,  just  inside  the  bar,  by  a  strange  bearded 
man,  who  asked  for  a  newspaper  containing  the 
last  war  telegrams.  He  tore  his  red  shirt  into 
narrow  strips,  and  spent  two  days  with  his  needle 
over  the  pieces  and  the  tattered  remnant  of  his 
only  white  garment;  and  a  few  days  afterward 
the  fishermen  on  the  bay  were  surprised  to  sea 
what,  on  nearer  approach,  proved  to  be  a  rude  imi- 
tation of  the  national  flag  floating  from  a  spar 
above  the  hut. 

One  evening,  as  the  fog  began  to  drift  over  the 
sand-hills,  the  recluse  sat  alone  in  his  hut.  The 
fire  was  dying  unheeded  on  the  hearth,  for  he  had 
been  sitting  there  for  a  long  time,  completely  ab- 
sorbed in  the  blurred  pages  of  an  old  newspaper. 

o 


98         THE   PBINCESS  BOB   AND  HER  FRIENDS. 

Presently  he  arose,  and,  refolding  it,  —  an  opera- 
tion of  great  care  and  delicacy  in  its  tattered  con- 
dition, —  placed  it  under  the  blankets  of  his  bed. 
He  resumed  his  seat  by  the  fire,  but  soon  began 
drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 
Eventually  this  assumed  the  time  and  accent  of 
some  air.  Then  he  began  to  whistle  softly  and 
hesitatingly,  as  if  trying  to  recall  a  forgotten  tune. 
Finally  this  took  shape  in  a  rude  resemblance, 
not  unlike  that  which  his  flag  bore  to  the  na- 
tional standard,  to  Yankee  Doodle.  Suddenly  he 
stopped. 

There  was  an  unmistakable  rapping  at  the  door. 
The  blood  which  had  at  first  rushed  to  his  face  now 
forsook  it  and  settled  slowly  around  his  heart.  He 
tried  to  rise,  but  could  not.  Then  the  door  was 
flung  open,  and  a  figure  with  a  scarlet-lined  hood 
and  fur  mantle  stood  on  the  threshold.  With  a 
mighty  effort  he  took  one  stride  to  the  door.  The 
next  moment  he  saw  the  wide  mouth  and  white 
teeth  of  the  Princess,  and  was  greeted  by  a  kiss 
that  felt  like  a  baptism. 

To  tear  the  hood  and  mantle  from  her  figure  in 
the  sudden  fury  that  seized  him,  and  to  fiercely 
demand  the  reason  of  this  masquerade,  was  his 
only  return  to  her  greeting.  "  Why  are  you  here  ? 
did  you  steal  these  garments  ?  "  he  again  demanded 
in  her  guttural  language,  as  he  shook  her  roughly 
by  the  arm.  The  Princess  hung  her  head.  "  Did 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.         99 

you  ? "  he  screamed,  as  lie  reached  wildly  for  his 
rifle. 

"I  did." 

His  hold  relaxed,  and  he  staggered  back  against 
the  wall.  The  Princess  began  to  whimper.  Be- 
tween her  sobs,  she  was  trying  to  explain  that  the 
Major  and  his  daughter  were  going  away,  and  that 
they  wanted  to  send  her  to  the  Eeservation ;  but 
he  cut  her  short.  "  Take  off  those  things ! "  The 
Princess  tremblingly  obeyed.  He  rolled  them  up, 
placed  them  in  the  canoe  she  had  just  left,  and 
then  leaped  into  the  frail  craft.  She  would  have 
followed,  but  with  a  great  oath  he  threw  her  from 
him,  and  with  one  stroke  of  his  paddle  swept  out 
into  the  fog,  and  was  gone. 

"  Jessamy,"  said  the  Major,  a  few  days  after,  as 
he  sat  at  dinner  with  his  daughter,  "  I  think  I  can 
tell  you  something  to  match  the  mysterious  dis- 
appearance and  return  of  your  wardrobe.  Your 
crazy  friend,  the  recluse,  has  enlisted  this  morning 
in  the  Fourth  Artillery.  He 's  a  splendid-looking 
animal,  and  there  's  the  right  stuff  for  a  soldier  in 
him,  if  I  'm  not  mistaken.  He 's  in  earnest  too, 
for  he  enlists  in  the  regiment  ordered  back  to 
Washington.  Bless  me,  child,  another  goblet  bro- 
ken; you'll  ruin  the  mess  in  glassware,  at  this 
rate!" 

"  Have  you  heard  anything  more  of  the  Princess, 
papa  ? " 


100   THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS. 

"  Nothing,  but  perhaps  it 's  as  well  that  she  has 
gone.  These  cursed  settlers  are  at  their  old 
complaints  again  about  what  they  call  'Indian 
depredations/  and  I  have  just  received  orders  from 
head-quarters  to  keep  the  settlement  clear  of  all 
vagabond  aborigines.  I  am  afraid,  my  dear,  that 
a  strict  construction  of  the  term  would  include 
your  protegee" 

The  time  for  the  departure  of  the  Fourth  Artil- 
lery had  come.  The  night  before  was  thick  and 
foggy.  At  one  o'clock,  a  shot  on  the  ramparts 
called  out  the  guard  and  roused  the  sleeping  gar- 
rison. The  new  sentry,  Private  Grey,  had  chal- 
lenged a  dusky  figure  creeping  on  the  glacis,  and, 
receiving  no  answer,  had  fired.  The  guard  sent 
out  presently  returned,  bearing  a  lifeless  figure  in 
their  arms.  The  new  sentry's  zeal,  joined  with  an 
ex-frontiersman's  aim,  was  fatal. 

They  laid  the  helpless,  ragged  form  before  the 
guard-house  door,  and  then  saw  for  the  first  time 
that  it  was  the  Princess.  Presently  she  opened 
her  eyes.  They  fell  upon  the  agonized  face  of  her 
innocent  slayer,  but  haply  without  intelligence  or 
reproach. 

"  Georgy  ! "  she  whispered. 

"Bob!" 

"All's  same  now.  Me  get  plenty  well  sooa 
Me  make  no  more  fuss.  Me  go  to  Reserva- 
tion." 


THE  PRINCESS  BOB  AND  HER  FRIENDS.   101 

Then  she  stopped,  a  tremor  ran  through  her 
limbs,  and  she  lay  still.  She  had  gone  to  the 
Reservation.  Not  that  devised  by  the  wisdom  of 
man,  but  that  one  set  apart  from  the  foundation 
of  the  world  for  the  wisest  as  well  as  the  meanest 
of  His  creatures. 


THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY  BAR 

BEFOKE  nine  o'clock  it  was  pretty  well  known 
all  along  the  river  that  the  two  partners  of 
the  "  Amity  Claim  "  had  quarrelled  and  separated 
at  daybreak.  At  that  time  the  attention  of  their 
nearest  neighbor  had  been  attracted  by  the  sounds 
of  altercations  and  two  consecutive  pistol-shots. 
Eunning  out,  he  had  seen,  dimly,  in  the  gray  mist 
that  rose  from  the  river,  the  tall  form  of  Scott,  one 
of  the  partners,  descending  the  hill  toward  the 
canon;  a  moment  later,  York,  the  other  partner, 
had  appeared  from  the  cabin,  and  walked  in  an 
opposite  direction  toward  the  river,  passing  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  curious  watcher.  Later  it  was 
discovered  that  a  serious  Chinaman,  cutting  wood 
before  the  cabin,  had  witnessed  part  of  the  quarrel. 
But  John  was  stolid,  indifferent,  and  reticent.  "  Me 
choppee  wood,  me  no  fightee,"  was  his  serene  re- 
sponse to  all  anxious  queries.  "  But  what  did  they 
say,  John  ? "  John  did  not  sale.  Colonel  Star- 
bottle  deftly  ran  over  the  various  popular  epithets 
which  a  generous  public  sentiment  might  accept 
as  reasonable  provocation  for  an  assault.  But  John 
did  not  recognize  them.  "  And  this  yer  's  the  cat- 


THE  ILIAD   OF  SANDY   BAB.  103 

tie,"  said  the  Colonel,  with  some  severity,  "that 
some  thinks  oughter  be  allowed  to  testify  ag'in'  a 
White  Man !  Git  —  you  heathen  ! " 

Still  the  quarrel  remained  inexplicable.  That 
two  men,  whose  amiability  and  grave  tact  had 
earned  for  them  the  title  of  "  The  Peacemakers," 
in  a  community  not  greatly  given  to  the  passive  vir- 
tues, —  that  these  men,  singularly  devoted  to  each 
other,  should  suddenly  and  violently  quarrel,  might 
well  excite  the  curiosity  of  the  camp.  A  few 
of  the  more  inquisitive  visited  the  late  scene  of 
conflict,  now  deserted  by  its  former  occupants. 
There  was  no  trace  of  disorder  or  confusion  in  the 
neat  cabin.  The  rude  table  was  arranged  as  if 
for  breakfast ;  the  pan  of  yellow  biscuit  still  sat 
upon  that  hearth  whose  dead  embers  might  have 
typified  the  evil  passions  that  had  raged  there 
but  an  hour  before.  But  Colonel  Starbottle's  eye 
—  albeit  somewhat  bloodshot  and  rheumy  —  was 
more  intent  on  practical  details.  On  examination, 
a  bullet-hole  was  found  in  the  doorpost,  and 
another,  nearly  opposite,  in  the  casing  of  the  win- 
dow. The  Colonel  called  attention  to  the  fact  that 
the  one  "  agreed  with  "  the  bore  of  Scott's  revolver, 
and  the  other  with  that  of  York's  derringer. 
"  They  must  hev  stood  about  yer,"  said  the  Colo- 
nel, taking  position ;  "  not  mor'n  three  feet  apart, 
and  —  missed  ! "  There  was  a  fine  touch  of  pathos 
in  the  falling  inflection  of  the  Colonel's  voice, 


104  THE  ILIAD   OF   SANDY  BAB. 

which  was  not  without  effect.  A  delicate  per- 
ception of  wasted  opportunity  thrilled  his  audi- 
tors. 

But  the  Bar  was  destined  to  experience  a  greater 
disappointment.  The  two  antagonists  had  not 
met  since  the  quarrel,  and  it  was  vaguely  rumored 
that,  on  the  occasion  of  a  second  meeting,  each  had 
determined  to  kill  the  other  "on  sight."  There 
was,  consequently,  some  excitement  —  and,  it  is  to 
be  feared,  no  little  gratification  —  when,  at  ten 
o'clock,  York  stepped  from  the  Magnolia  Saloon 
into  the  one  long  straggling  street  of  the  camp,  at 
the  same  moment  that  Scott  left  the  blacksmith's 
shop  at  the  forks  of  the  road.  It  was  evident,  at 
a  glance,  that  a  meeting  could  only  be  avoided  by 
the  actual  retreat  of  one  or  the  other. 

In  an  instant  the  doors  and  windows  of  the 
adjacent  saloons  were  filled  with  faces.  Heads 
unaccountably  appeared  above  the  river-banks  and 
from  behind  bowlders.  An  empty  wagon  at  the 
cross-road  was  suddenly  crowded  with  people,  who 
seemed  to  have  sprung  from  the  earth.  There 
was  much  running  and  confusion  on  the  hillside. 
On  the  mountain-road,  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  had 
reined  up  his  horse,  and  was  standing  upright 
on  the  seat  of  his  buggy.  And  the  two  objects 
of  this  absorbing  attention  approached  each 
other. 

*  York 's  got  the  sun,"  "  Scott  '11  line  him  on  that 


THE  ILIAD   OF   SANDY  BAB.  105 

tree,"  "  He 's  waitin'  to  draw  his  fire,"  came  from 
the  cart;  and  then  it  was  silent.  But  above 
this  human  breathlessness  the  river  rushed  and 
sang,  and  the  wind  rustled  the  tree-tops  with  an 
indifference  that  seemed  obtrusive.  Colonel  Star- 
bottle  felt  it,  and  in  a  moment  of  sublime  preoccu- 
pation, without  looking  around,  waved  his  cane 
behind  him,  warningly  to  all  nature,  and  said, 
"Shu!" 

The  men  were  now  within  a  few  feet  of  each 
other.  A  hen  ran  across  the  road  before  one  of 
them.  A  feathery  seed-vessel,  wafted  from  a  way- 
side tree,  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  other.  And,  un- 
heeding this  irony  of  nature,  the  two  opponents 
came  nearer,  erect  and  rigid,  looked  in  each  other's 
eyes,  and  —  passed! 

Colonel  Starbottle  had  to  be  lifted  from  the  cart. 
"  This  yer  camp  is  played  out,"  he  said,  gloomily, 
as  he  affected  to  be  supported  into  the  Magnolia. 
With  what  further  expression  he  might  have  in- 
dicated his  feelings  it  was  impossible  to  say,  fop 
at  that  moment  Scott  joined  the  group.  "Did 
you  speak  to  me  ? "  he  asked  of  the  Colonel,  drop^ 
ping  his  hand,  as  if  with  accidental  familiarity,  on 
that  gentleman's  shoulder.  The  Colonel,  recog- 
nizing some  occult  quality  in  the  touch,  and  some 
unknown  quantity  in  the  glance  of  his  questioner, 
contented  himself  by  replying,  "  No,  sir,"  with  dig- 
nity. A  few  rods  away,  York's  conduct  was  as 


106  THE  ILIAD   OF   SANDY  BAB. 

characteristic  and  peculiar.  "  You  had  a  mighty 
fine  chance ;  why  did  n't  you  plump  him  ? "  said 
Jack  Hamlin,  as  York  drew  near  the  buggy. 
"Because  I  hate  him,"  was  the  reply,  heard  only 
by  Jack.  Contrary  to  popular  belief,  this  reply 
was  not  hissed  between  the  lips  of  the  speaker,  but 
was  said  in  an  ordinary  tone.  But  Jack  Hamlin, 
who  was  an  observer  of  mankind,  noticed  that  the 
speaker's  hands  were  cold,  and  his  lips  dry,  as  he 
helped  him  into  the  buggy,  and  accepted  the 
seeming  paradox  with  a  smile. 

When  Sandy  Bar  became  convinced  that  the 
quarrel  between  York  and  Scott  could  not  be 
settled  after  the  usual  local  methods,  it  gave  no 
further  concern  thereto.  But  presently  it  was 
rumored  that  the  "  Amity  Claim  "  was  in  litigation, 
and  that  its  possession  would  be  expensively  dis- 
puted by  each  of  the  partners.  As  it  was  well 
known  that  the  claim  in  question  was  "worked 
out "  and  worthless,  and  that  the  partners,  whom 
it  had  already  enriched,  had  talked  of  abandoning 
it  but  a  day  or  two  before  the  quarrel,  this  pro- 
ceeding could  only  be  accounted  for  as  gratuitous 
spite.  Later,  two  San  Francisco  lawyers  made 
their  appearance  in  this  guileless  Arcadia,  and 
were  eventually  taken  into  the  saloons,  and  — 
what  was  pretty  much  the  same  thing  — the  con- 
fidences of  the  inhabitants.  The  results  of  this 


THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY  BAR.  107 

unhallowed  intimacy  were  many  subpoenas  ;  and, 
indeed,  when  the  "  Amity  Claim  "  came  to  trial, 
all  of  Sandy  Bar  that  was  not  in  compulsory 
attendance  at  the  county  seat  came  there  from  curi- 
osity. The  gulches  and  ditches  for  miles  around 
were  deserted.  I  do  not  propose  to  describe  that 
already  famous  trial.  Enough  that,  in  the  language 
of  the  plaintiff's  counsel,  "  it  was  one  of  no  ordi- 
nary significance,  involving  the  inherent  rights  of 
that  untiring  industry  which  had  developed  the 
Pactolian  resources  of  this  golden  land  " ;  and,  in 
the  homelier  phrase  of  Colonel  Starbottle,  "A  fuss 
that  gentlemen  might  hev  settled  in  ten  minutes 
over  a  social  glass,  ef  they  meant  business ;  or  in 
ten  seconds  with  a  revolver,  ef  they  meant  fun." 
Scott  got  a  verdict,  from  which  York  instantly  ap- 
pealed. It  was  said  that  he  had  sworn  to  spend 
his  last  dollar  in  the  struggle. 

In  this  way  Sandy  Bar  began  to  accept  the 
enmity  of  the  former  partners  as  a  lifelong  feud, 
and  the  fact  that  they  had  ever  been  friends  was 
forgotten.  The  few  who  expected  to  learn  from 
the  trial  the  origin  of  the  quarrel  were  disappoint- 
ed. Among  the  various  conjectures,  that  which 
ascribed  some  occult  feminine  influence  as  the 
cause  was  naturally  popular,  in  a  camp  given  to 
dubious  compliment  of  the  sex.  "My  word  for 
it,  gentlemen,"  said  Colonel  Starbottle,  who  had 
been  known  in  Sacramento  as  a  Gentleman  of  the 


108  THE  ILIAD   OF  SANDY  BAR. 

Old  School,  "  there 's  some  lovely  creature  at  the 
bottom  of  this."  The  gallant  Colonel  then  pro- 
ceeded to  illustrate  his  theory,  by  divers  sprightly 
stories,  such  as  Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School  are 
in  the  habit  of  repeating,  but  which,  from  defer- 
ence to  the  prejudices  of  gentlemen  of  a  more  re- 
cent school,  I  refrain  from  transcribing  here.  But 
it  would  appear  that  even  the  Colonel's  theory  was 
fallacious.  The  only  woman  who  personally  might 
have  exercised  any  influence  over  the  partners 
was  the  pretty  daughter  of  "  old  man  Folinsbee," 
of  Poverty  Flat,  at  whose  hospitable  house  — 
which  exhibited  some  comforts  and  refinements 
rare  in  that  crude  civilization  —  both  York  and 
Scott  were  frequent  visitors.  Yet  into  this  charm- 
ing retreat  York  strode  one  evening,  a  month  after 
the  quarrel,  and,  beholding  Scott  sitting  there, 
turned  to  the  fair  hostess  with  the  abrupt  query, 
"  Do  you  love  this  man  ? "  The  young  woman 
thus  addressed  returned  that  answer  —  at  once 
spirited  and  evasive  —  which  would  occur  to  most 
of  my  fair  readers  in  such  an  exigency.  Without 
another  word,  York  left  the  house.  "Miss  Jo" 
heaved  the  least  possible  sigh  as  the  door  closed 
on  York's  curls  and  square  shoulders,  and  then, 
like  a  good  girl,  turned  to  her  insulted  guest 
"But  would  you  believe  it,  dear?"  she  afterward 
related  to  an  intimate  friend,  "  the  other  creature, 
after  glowering  at  me  for  a  moment,  got  upon  its 


THE  ILIAD   OF   SANDY  BAB.  109 

hind  legs,  took  its  hat,  and  left,  too ;  and  that 's 
the  last  I  Ve  seen  of  either." 

The  same  hard  disregard  of  all  other  interests  or 
feelings  in  the  gratification  of  their  blind  rancor 
characterized  all  their  actions.  When  York  pur- 
chased the  land  below  Scott's  new  claim,  and 
obliged  the  latter,  at  a  great  expense,  to  make  a 
long  detour  to  carry  a  "  tail-race  "  around  it,  Scott 
retaliated  by  building  a  dam  that  overflowed 
York's  claim  on  the  river.  It  was  Scott,  who,  in 
conjunction  with  Colonel  Starbottle,  first  organized 
that  active  opposition  to  the  Chinamen,  which  re- 
sulted in  the  driving  off  of  York's  Mongolian  la- 
borers ;  it  was  York  who  built  the  wagon-road  and 
established  the  express  which  rendered  Scott's 
mules  and  pack-trains  obsolete ;  it  was  Scott  who 
called  into  life  the  Vigilance  Committee  which  ex- 
patriated York's  friend,  Jack  Hamlin;  it  was 
York  who  created  the  "  Sandy  Bar  Herald,"  which 
characterized  the  act  as  "  a  lawless  outrage,"  and 
Scott  as  a  "  Border  Euffian  " ;  it  was  Scott,  at  the 
head  of  twenty  masked  men,  who,  one  moonlight 
night,  threw  the  offending  "  forms  "  into  the  yel- 
low river,  and  scattered  the  types  in  the  dusty 
road.  These  proceedings  were  received  in  the  dis- 
tant and  more  civilized  outlying  towns  as  vague 
indications  of  progress  and  vitality.  I  have  be- 
fore me  a  copy  of  the  "  Poverty  Flat  Pioneer,"  for  the 
week  ending  August  12,  1856,  in  which  the  editor, 


110  THE  ILIAD   OF  SANDY  BAB. 

under  the  head  of  "  County  Improvements/'  says : 
"  The  new  Presbyterian  Church  on  C  Street,  at 
Sandy  Bar,  is  completed.  It  stands  upon  the  lot 
formerly  occupied  by  the  Magnolia  Saloon,  which 
was  so  mysteriously  burnt  last  month.  The 
temple,  which  now  rises  like  a  Phoenix  from  the 
ashes  of  the  Magnolia,  is  virtually  the  free  gift  of 
H.  J.  York,  Esq.,  of  Sandy  Bar,  who  purchased 
the  lot  and  donated  the  lumber.  Other  buildings 
are  going  up  in  the  vicinity,  but  the  most  notice- 
able is  the  •  Sunny  South  Saloon,'  erected  by  Cap- 
tain Mat.  Scott,  nearly  opposite  the  church.  Cap- 
tain Scott  has  spared  no  expense  in  the  furnishing 
of  this  saloon,  which  promises  to  be  one  of  the 
most  agreeable  places  of  resort  in  old  Tuolumne. 
He  has  recently  imported  two  new,  first-class  bil- 
liard-tables, with  cork  cushions.  Our  old  friend, 
'Mountain  Jimmy,'  will  dispense  liquors  at  the 
bar.  We  refer  our  readers  to  the  advertisement 
in  another  column.  Visitors  to  Sandy  Bar  can- 
not do  better  than  give  '  Jimmy '  a  call."  Among 
the  local  items  occurred  the  following:  "H.  J. 
York,  Esq.,  of  Sandy  Bar,  has  offered  a  reward  of 
$100  for  the  detection  of  the  parties  who  hauled 
away  the  steps  of  the  new  Presbyterian  Church,  C 
Street,  Sandy  Bar,  during  divine  service  on  Sab- 
bath evening  last.  Captain  Scott  adds  another 
hundred  for  the  capture  of  the  miscreants  who 
broke  the  magnificent  plate-glass  windows  of  the 


THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY  BAB.  Ill 

new  saloon  on  the  following  evening.  There  is 
some  talk  of  reorganizing  the  old  Vigilance  Com- 
mittee at  Sandy  Bar." 

When,  for  many  months  of  cloudless  weather, 
the  hard,  unwinking  sun  of  Sandy  Bar  had  regu- 
larly gone  down  on  the  unpacified  wrath  of  these 
men,  there  was  some  talk  of  mediation.  In  par- 
ticular, the  pastor  of  the  church  to  which  I  have 
just  referred  —  a  sincere,  fearless,  but  perhaps  not 
fully  enlightened  man  —  seized  gladly  upon  the 
occasion  of  York's  liberality  to  attempt  to  reunite 
the  former  partners.  He  preached  an  earnest  ser- 
mon on  the  abstract  sinfulness  of  discord  and  ran- 
cor. But  the  excellent  sermons  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Daws  were  directed  to  an  ideal  congregation  that 
did  not  exist  at  Sandy  Bar,  —  a  congregation  of 
beings  of  unmixed  vices  and  virtues,  of  single  im- 
pulses, and  perfectly  logical  motives,  of  preternat- 
ural simplicity,  of  childlike  faith,  and  grown-up 
responsibilities.  As,  unfortunately,  the  people  who 
actually  attended  Mr.  Daws's  church  were  mainly 
very  human,  somewhat  artful,  more  self-excusing 
than  self-accusing,  rather  good-natured,  and  de- 
cidedly weak,  they  quietly  shed  that  portion  of  the 
sermon  which  referred  to  themselves,  and,  accept- 
ing York  and  Scott  —  who  were  both  in  defiant 
attendance  —  as  curious  examples  of  those  ideal 
beings  above  referred  to,  felt  a  certain  satisfaction 
—  which,  I  fear,  was  not  altogether  Christian-like 


112  THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY  BAB. 

—  in  their  "  raking-down."  If  Mr.  Daws  expected 
York  and  Scott  to  shake  hands  after  the  sermon, 
he  was  disappointed.  But  he  did  not  relax  his 
purpose.  With  that  quiet  fearlessness  and  deter- 
mination which  had  won  for  him  the  respect  of 
men  who  were  too  apt  to  regard  piety  as  synony- 
mous with  effeminacy,  he  attacked  Scott  in  his 
own  house.  "What  he  said  has  not  been  recorded, 
but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it  was  part  of  his  ser- 
mon. When  he  had  concluded,  Scott  looked  at 
him,  not  unkindly,  over  the  glasses  of  his  bar,  and 
said,  less  irreverently  than  the  words  might  con- 
vey, "  Young  man,  I  rather  like  your  style  ;  but 
when  you  know  York  and  me  as  well  as  you  do 
God  Almighty,  it  '11  be  time  to  talk." 

And  so  the  feud  progressed  ;  and  so,  as  in  more 
illustrious  examples,  the  private  and  personal  en- 
mity of  two  representative  men  led  gradually  to 
the  evolution  of  some  crude,  half-expressed  prin- 
ciple or  belief.  It  was  not  long  before  it  was 
made  evident  that  those  beliefs  were  identical  with 
certain  broad  principles  laid  down  by  the  founders 
of  the  American  Constitution,  as  expounded  by 
the  statesmanlike  A. ;  or  were  the  fatal  quicksands, 
on  which  the  ship  of  state  might  be  wrecked, 
warningly  pointed  out  by  the  eloquent  B.  The 
practical  result  of  all  which  was  the  nomination  of 
York  and  Scott  to  represent  the  opposite  factions 
of  Sandy  Bar  in  legislative  councils. 


THE  ILIAD   OF  SANDY   BAB.  113 

For  some  weeks  past,  the  voters  of  Sandy  Bar 
and  the  adjacent  camps  had  been  called  upon,  in 
large  type,  to  "  EALLY  ! "  In  vain  the  great  pines 
at  the  cross-roads  —  whose  trunks  were  compelled 
to  bear  this  and  other  legends  —  moaned  and  pro- 
tested from  their  windy  watch-towers.  But  one 
day,  with  fife  and  drum,  and  flaming  transparency, 
a  procession  filed  into  the  triangular  grove  at  the 
head  of  the  gulch.  The  meeting  was  called  to 
order  by  Colonel  Starbottle,  who,  having  once 
enjoyed  legislative  functions,  and  being  vaguely 
known  as  a  "  war-horse,"  was  considered  to  be  a 
valuable  partisan  of  York.  He  concluded  an 
appeal  for  his  friend,  with  an  enunciation  of  prin- 
ciples, interspersed  with  one  or  two  anecdotes  so 
gratuitously  coarse  that  the  very  pines  might 
have  been  moved  to  pelt  him  with  their  cast-off 
cones,  as  he  stood  there.  But  he  created  a  laugh, 
on  which  his  candidate  rode  into  popular  notice ; 
and  when  York  rose  to  speak,  he  was  greeted  with 
cheers.  But,  to  the  general  astonishment,  the  new 
speaker  at  once  launched  into  bitter  denunciation 
of  his  rival.  He  not  only  dwelt  upon  Scott's  deeds 
and  example,  as  known  to  Sandy  Bar,  but  spoke 
of  facts  connected  with  his  previous  career,  hitherto 
unknown  to  his  auditors.  To  great  precision  of 
epithet  and  directness  of  statement,  the  speaker 
added  the  fascination  of  revelation  and  exposure. 
The  crowd  cheered,  yelled,  and  were  delighted, 


114  THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY  BAR. 

but  when  this  astounding  philippic  was  concluded, 
there  was  a  unanimous  call  for  "  Scott ! "  Colonel 
Starbottle  would  have  resisted  this  manifest  im- 
propriety, but  in  vain.  Partly  from  a  crude  sense 
of  justice,  partly  from  a  meaner  craving  for  excite- 
ment, the  assemblage  was  inflexible ;  and  Scott 
was  dragged,  pushed,  and  pulled  upon  the  plat- 
form. 

As  his  frowsy  head  and  unkempt  beard  appeared 
above  the  railing,  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
drunk.  But  it  was  also  evident,  before  he  opened 
his  lips,  that  the  orator  of  Sandy  Bar  —  the  one 
man  who  could  touch  their  vagabond  sympathies 
(perhaps  because  he  was  not  above  appealing  to 
them)  —  stood  before  them.  A  consciousness  of 
this  power  lent  a  certain  dignity  to  his  figure,  and 
I  am  not  sure  but  that  his  very  physical  condition 
impressed  them  as  a  kind  of  regal  unbending  and 
large  condescension.  Howbeit,  when  this  unex- 
pected Hector  arose  from  the  ditch,  York's  myr- 
midons trembled. 

"  There 's  naught,  gentlemen,"  said  Scott,  lean- 
ing forward  on  the  railing,  — "  there 's  naught  as 
that  man  hez  said  as  is  n't  true.  I  was  run  outer 
Cairo ;  I  did  belong  to  the  Eegulators  ;  I  did  de- 
sert from  the  army ;  I  did  leave  a  wife  in  Kansas. 
But  thar  's  one  thing  he  did  n't  charge  me  with, 
and,  maybe,  he 's  forgotten.  For  three  years,  gen- 
tlemen, I  was  that  man's  pardner !  — "  Whether 


THE  ILIAD   OF  SANDY  BAB.  115 

he  intended  to  say  more,  I  cannot  tell ;  a  burst  of 
applause  artistically  rounded  and  enforced  the 
climax,  and  virtually  elected  the  speaker.  That 
fall  he  went  to  Sacramento,  York  went  abroad; 
and  for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  distance  and 
a  new  atmosphere  isolated  the  old  antagonists. 

With  little  of  change  in  the  green  wood,  gray 
rock,  and  yellow  river,  but  with  much  shifting  of 
human  landmarks,  and  new  laces  in  its  habitations, 
three  years  passed  over  Sandy  Bar.  The  two  men, 
once  so  identified  with  its  character,  seemed  to 
have  been  quite  forgotten.  "  You  will  never  re- 
turn to  Sandy  Bar,"  said  Miss  Folinsbee,  the  "  Lily 
of  Poverty  Flat,"  on  meeting  York  in  Paris,  "  for 
Sandy  Bar  is  no  more.  They  call  it  Eiverside 
now ;  and  the  new  town  is  built  higher  up  on  the 
river-bank.  By  the  by,  '  Jo '  says  that  Scott  has 
won  his  suit  about  the  '  Amity  Claim,'  and  that  he 
lives  in  the  old  cabin,  and  is  drunk  half  his  time. 
0, 1  beg  your  pardon,"  added  the  lively  lady,  as  a 
flush  crossed  York's  sallow  cheek ;  "  but,  bless  me, 
I  really  thought  that  old  grudge  was  made  up. 
I  'm  sure  it  ought  to  be." 

It  was  three  months  after  this  conversation,  and 
a  pleasant  summer  evening,  that  the  Poverty  Flat 
coach  drew  up  before  the  veranda  of  the  Union 
Hotel  at  Sandy  Bar.  Among  its  passengers  was 
one,  apparently  a  stranger,  in  the  local  distinction 


116  THE  ILIAD   OF  SANDY   BAR. 

of  well-fitting  clothes  and  closely  shaven  face,  who 
demanded  a  private  room  and  retired  early  to  rest. 
But  before  sunrise  next  morning  he  arose,  and, 
drawing  some  clothes  from  his  carpet-bag,  pro- 
ceeded to  array  himself  in  a  pair  of  white  duck 
trousers,  a  white  duck  overshirt,  and  straw  hat. 
When  his  toilet  was  completed,  he  tied  a  red  ban- 
danna handkerchief  in  a  loop  and  threw  it  loosely 
over  his  shoulders.  The  transformation  was  com- 
plete. As  he  crept  softly  down  the  stairs  and 
stepped  into  the  road,  no  one  would  have  detected 
in  him  the  elegant  stranger  of  the  previous  night, 
and  but  few  have  recognized  the  face  and  figure  of 
Henry  York  of  Sandy  Bar. 

In  the  uncertain  light  of  that  early  hour,  and  in 
the  change  that  had  come  over  the  settlement,  he 
had  to  pause  for  a  moment  to  recall  where  he 
stood.  The  Sandy  Bar  of  his  recollection  lay  be- 
low him,  nearer  the  river;  the  buildings  around 
him  were  of  later  date  and  newer  fashion.  As  he 
strode  toward  the  river,  he  noticed  here  a  school- 
house  and  there  a  church.  A  little  farther  on, 
"The  Sunny  South"  came  in  view,  transformed 
into  a  restaurant,  its  gilding  faded  and  its  paint 
rubbed  off.  He  now  knew  where  he  was;  and, 
running  briskly  down  a  declivity,  crossed  a  ditch, 
and  stood  upon  the  lower  boundary  of  the  Amity 
Claim. 

The  gray  mist  was  rising  slowly  from  the  river, 


THE  ILIAD   OF   SANDY  BAB.  117 

clinging  to  the  tree-tops  and  drifting  up  the  moun- 
tain-side, until  it  was  caught  among  those  rocky 
altars,  and  held  a  sacrifice  to  the  ascending  sun. 
At  his  feet  the  earth,  cruelly  gashed  and  scarred 
by  his  forgotten  engines,  had,  since  the  old  days, 
put  on  a  show  of  greenness  here  and  there,  and 
now  smiled  forgivingly  up  at  him,  as  if  things 
were  not  so  bad  after  all.  A  few  birds  were  bath- 
ing in  the  ditch  with  a  pleasant  suggestion  of  its 
being  a  new  and  special  provision  of  nature,  and 
a  hare  ran  into  an  inverted  sluice-box,  as  he  ap- 
proached, as  if  it  were  put  there  for  that  pur- 
pose. 

He  had  not  yet  dared  to  look  in  a  certain  direc- 
tion. But  the  sun  was  now  high  enough  to  paint 
the  little  eminence  on  which  the  cabin  stood.  In 
spite  of  his  self-control,  his  heart  beat  faster  as  he 
raised  his  eyes  toward  it.  Its  window  and  door 
were  closed,  no  smoke  came  from  its  adobe  chim- 
ney, but  it  was  else  unchanged.  When  within  a 
few  yards  of  it,  he  picked  up  a  broken  shovel,  and, 
shouldering  it  with  a  smile,  strode  toward  the  door 
and  knocked.  There  was  no  sound  from  within. 
The  smile  died  upon  his  lips  as  he  nervously 
pushed  the  door  open. 

A  figure  started  up  angrily  and  came  toward 
him,  —  a  figure  whose  bloodshot  eyes  suddenly 
fixed  into  a  vacant  stare,  whose  arms  were  at  first 
outstretched  and  then  thrown  up  in  warning  ges- 


118  THE  ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAR. 

ticulation,  —  a  figure  that  suddenly  gasped,  choked, 
and  then  fell  forward  in  a  fit. 

But  before  he  touched  the  ground,  York  had 
him  out  into  the  open  air  and  sunshine.  In  the 
struggle,  both  fell  and  rolled  over  on  the  ground. 
But  the  next  moment  York  was  sitting  up,  hold- 
ing the  convulsed  frame  of  his  former  partner  on 
his  knee,  and  wiping  the  foam  from  his  inarticu- 
late lips.  Gradually  the  tremor  became  less  fre- 
quent, and  then  ceased ;  and  the  strong  man  lay 
unconscious  in  his  arms. 

For  some  moments  York  held  him  quietly  thus, 
looking  in  his  face.  Afar,  the  stroke  of  a  wood- 
man's axe  —  a  mere  phantom  of  sound  —  was  all 
that  broke  the  stillness.  High  up  the  mountain, 
a  wheeling  hawk  hung  breathlessly  above  them. 
And  then  came  voices,  and  two  men  joined 
them. 

"A  fight?"  No,  a  fit;  and  would  they  help 
him  bring  the  sick  man  to  the  hotel  ? 

And  there,  for  a  week,  the  stricken  partner  lay, 
unconscious  of  aught  but  the  visions  wrought  by 
disease  and  fear.  On  the  eighth  day,  at  sunrise, 
he  rallied,  and,  opening  his  eyes,  looked  upon 
York,  and  pressed  his  hand  ;  then  he  spoke  :  — 

"  And  it 's  you.     I  thought  it  was  only  whiskey." 

York  replied  by  taking  both  of  his  hands,  boy- 
ishly working  them  backward  and  forward,  as  his 
elbow  rested  on  the  bed,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 


THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY  BAB.  119 

"And  you've  been  abroad.  How  did  you  like 
Paris?" 

"  So,  so.     How  did  you  like  Sacramento  ? " 

"Bully." 

And  that  was  all  they  could  think  to  say. 
Presently  Scott  opened  his  eyes  again. 

"  I  'm  mighty  weak." 

"You'll  get  better  soon." 

"Not  much." 

A  long  silence  followed,  in  which  they  could 
hear  the  sounds  of  wood-chopping,  and  that  Sandy 
Bar  was  already  astir  for  the  coming  day.  Then 
Scott  slowly  and  with  difficulty  turned  his  face  to 
York,  and  said,  — 

"  I  might  hev  killed  you  once." 

"  I  wish  you  had." 

They  pressed  each  other's  hands  again,  but 
Scott's  grasp  was  evidently  failing.  He  seemed  to 
summon  his  energies  for  a  special  effort 

"Old  man!" 

"  Old  chap." 

"Closer!" 

York  bent  his  head  toward  the  slowly  fading 
face. 

"  Do  ye  mind  that  morning  ? " 

"Yes." 

A  gleam  of  fun  slid  into  the  corner  of  Scott's 
blue  eye,  as  he  whispered,  — 

"  Old  man,  thar  was  too  much  saleratus  in  that 
bread." 


120  THE  ILIAD   OF   SANDY  BAB. 

It  is  said  that  these  were  his  last  words.  For 
when  the  sun,  which  had  so  often  gone  down  upon 
the  idle  wrath  of  these  foolish  men,  looked  again 
upon  them  reunited,  it  saw  the  hand  of  Scott  fall 
cold  and  irresponsive  from  the  yearning  clasp  of 
his  former  partner,  and  it  knew  that  the  feud  of 
Sandy  Bar  was  at  an  end. 


ME.  THOMPSON'S  PKODIGAL 

WE  all  knew  that  Mr.  Thompson  was  looking 
for  his  son,  and  a  pretty  bad  one  at  that. 
That  he  was  coming  to  California  for  this  sole 
object  was  no  secret  to  his  fellow-passengers  ;  and 
the  physical  peculiarities,  as  well  as  the  moral 
weaknesses,  of  the  missing  prodigal  were  made 
equally  plain  to  us  through  the  frank  volubility  of 
the  parent.  "  You  was  speaking  of  a  young  man 
which  was  hung  at  Red  Dog  for  sluice-robbing," 
said  Mr.  Thompson  to  a  steerage  passenger,  one 
day;  "be  you  aware  of  the  color  of  his  eyes?" 
"  Black,"  responded  the  passenger.  "  Ah,"  said 
Mr.  Thompson,  referring  to  some  mental  memo- 
randa, "  Char-les's  eyes  was  blue."  He  then  walked 
away.  Perhaps  it  was  from  this  unsympathetic 
mode  of  inquiry,  perhaps  it  was  from  that  West- 
ern predilection  to  take  a  humorous  view  of  any 
principle  or  sentiment  persistently  brought  before 
them,  that  Mr.  Thompson's  quest  was  the  subject 
of  some  satire  among  the  passengers.  A  gratuitous 
advertisement  of  the  missing  Charles,  addressed 
to  "  Jailers  and  Guardians,"  circulated  privately 
among  them ;  everybody  remembered  to  have  met 


122  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

Charles  under  distressing  circumstances.  Yet 
it  is  but  due  to  my  countrymen  to  state  that 
when  it  was  known  that  Thompson  had  embarked 
some  wealth  in  this  visionary  project,  but  little  of 
this  satire  found  its  way  to  his  ears,  and  nothing 
was  uttered  in  his  hearing  that  might  bring  a  pang 
to  a  father's  heart,  or  imperil  a  possible  pecuniary 
advantage  of  the  satirist.  Indeed,  Mr.  Bracy 
Tibbets's  jocular  proposition  to  form  a  joint-stock 
company  to  "  prospect "  for  the  missing  youth  re- 
ceived at  one  time  quite  serious  entertainment. 

Perhaps  to  superficial  criticism  Mr.  Thompson's 
nature  was  not  picturesque  nor  lovable.  His  his- 
tory, as  imparted  at  dinner,  one  day,  by  himself, 
was  practical  even  in  its  singularity.  After  a  hard 
and  wilful  youth  and  maturity,  —  in  which  he 
had  buried  a  broken-spirited  wife,  and  driven  his 
son  to  sea,  —  he  suddenly  experienced  religion.  "  I 
got  it  in  New  Orleans  in  '59,"  said  Mr.  Thompson, 
with  the  general  suggestion  of  referring  to  an  epi- 
demic. "  Enter  ye  the  narrer  gate.  Parse  me  the 
beans."  Perhaps  this  practical  quality  upheld  him 
in  his  apparently  hopeless  search.  He  had  no 
clew  to  the  whereabouts  of  his  runaway  son ;  in- 
deed, scarcely  a  proof  of  his  present  existence. 
From  his  indifferent  recollection  of  the  boy  of 
twelve,  he  now  expected  to  identify  the  man  of 
twenty-five. 

It  would  seem  that  he  was  successful.    How  he 


MR.  THOMPSON'S   PRODIGAL.  123 

succeeded  was  one  of  the  few  things  he  did  not 
tell  There  are,  I  believe,  two  versions  of  the 
story.  One,  that  Mr.  Thompson,  visiting  a  hos- 
pital, discovered  his  son  by  reason  of  a  peculiar 
hyinn,  chanted  by  the  sufferer,  in  a  delirious  dream 
of  his  boyhood.  This  version,  giving  as  it  did 
wide  range  to  the  finer  feelings  of  the  heart,  was 
quite  popular ;  and  as  told  by  the  Kev.  Mr.  Gush- 
ington,  on  his  return  from  his  California  tour, 
never  failed  to  satisfy  an  audience.  The  other  was 
less  simple,  and,  as  I  shall  adopt  it  here,  deserves 
more  elaboration. 

It  was  after  Mr.  Thompson  had  given  up  search- 
ing for  his  son  among  the  living,  and  had  taken 
to  the  examination  of  cemeteries,  and  a  careful  in- 
spection of  the  "  cold  hie  jacets  of  the  dead."  At 
this  time  he  was  a  frequent  visitor  of  "Lone 
Mountain,"  —  a  dreary  hill-top,  bleak  enough  in 
its  original  isolation,  and  bleaker  for  the  white- 
faced  marbles  by  which  San  Francisco  anchored 
her  departed  citizens,  and  kept  them  down  in  a 
shifting  sand  that  refused  to  cover  them,  and 
against  a  fierce  and  persistent  wind  that  strove  to 
blow  them  utterly  away.  Against  this  wind  the 
old  man  opposed  a  will  quite  as  persistent,  —  a 
grizzled,  hard  face,  and  a  tall,  crape-bound  hat 
drawn  tightly  over  his  eyes,  —  and  so  spent  days 
in  reading  the  mortaary  inscriptions  audibly  to 
himself.  The  frequency  of  Scriptural  quotation 


124  MB.   THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

pleased  him,  and  he  was  fond  of  corroborating 
them  by  a  pocket  Bible.  "  That 's  from  Psalms," 
he  said,  one  day,  to  an  adjacent  grave-digger.  The 
man  made  no  reply.  Not  at  all  rebuffed,  Mr. 
Thompson  at  once  slid  down  into  the  open  grave, 
with  a  more  practical  inquiry,  "  Did  you  ever,  in 
your  profession,  come  across  Char-les  Thompson  ? " 
"  Thompson  be  d — d ! "  said  the  grave-digger,  with 
great  directness.  "  Which,  if  he  had  n't  religion,  I 
think  he  is,"  responded  the  old  man,  as  he  clam- 
bered out  of  the  grave. 

It  was,  perhaps,  on  this  occasion  that  Mr. 
Thompson  stayed  later  than  usual.  As  he  turned 
his  face  toward  the  city,  lights  were  beginning  to 
twinkle  ahead,  and  a  fierce  wind,  made  visible  by 
fog,  drove  him  forward,  or,  lying  in  wait,  charged 
him  angrily  from  the  corners  of  deserted  suburban 
streets.  It  was  on  one  of  these  corners  that  some- 
thing else,  quite  as  indistinct  and  malevolent, 
leaped  upon  him  with  an  oath,  a  presented  pistol, 
and  a  demand  for  money.  But  it  was  met  by  a 
will  of  iron  and  a  grip  of  steel.  The  assailant  and 
assailed  rolled  together  on  the  ground.  But  the 
next  moment  the  old  man  was  erect ;  one  hand 
grasping  the  captured  pistol,  the  other  clutching 
at  arm's  length  the  throat  of  a  figure,  surly,  youth- 
ful, and  savage. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  setting  his 
thin  lips  together,  "  what  might  be  your  name  ? " 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  125 

"Thompson!" 

The  old  man's  hand  slid  from  the  throat  to  the 
arm  of  his  prisoner,  without  relaxing  its  firmness. 

"  Char-les  Thompson,  come  with  me,"  he  said, 
presently,  and  marched  his  captive  to  the  hotel. 
What  took  place  there  has  not  transpired,  but  it 
was  known  the  next  morning  that  Mr.  Thompson 
had  found  his  son, 

It  is  proper  to  add  to  the  above  improbable 
story,  that  there  was  nothing  in  the  young  man's 
appearance  or  manners  to  justify  it.  Grave,  reti- 
cent, and  handsome,  devoted  to  his  newly  found 
parent,  he  assumed  the  emoluments  and  responsi- 
bilities of  his  new  condition  with  a  certain  serious 
ease  that  more  nearly  approached  that  which  San 
Francisco  society  lacked,  and  —  rejected.  Some 
chose  to  despise  this  quality  as  a  tendency  to 
"psalm-singing";  others  saw  in  it  the  inherited 
qualities  of  the  parent,  and  were  ready  to  prophesy 
for  the  son  the  same  hard  old  age.  But  all  agreed 
that  it  was  not  inconsistent  with  the  habits  of 
money-getting,  for  which  father  and  son  were  re- 
spected. 

And  yet,  the  old  man  did  not  seem  to  be  happy. 
Perhaps  it  was  that  the  consummation  of  his 
wishes  left  him  without  a  practical  mission ;  per- 
haps —  and  it  is  the  more  probable  —  he  had  little 
love  for  the  son  he  had  regained.  The  obedience 


126  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

he  exacted  was  freely  given,  the  reform  he  had  set 
his  heart  upon  was  complete ;  and  yet,  somehow,  it 
did  not  seem  to  please  him.  In  reclaiming  his 
son,  he  had  fulfilled  all  the  requirements  that  his 
religious  duty  required  of  him,  and  yet  the  act 
seemed  to  lack  sanctification.  In  this  perplexity, 
he  read  again  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  — 
which  he  had  long  ago  adopted  for  his  guidance,  — 
and  found  that  he  had  omitted  the  final  feast  of 
reconciliation.  This  seemed  to  offer  the  proper 
quality  of  ceremoniousness  in  the  sacrament  be- 
tween himself  and  his  son ;  and  so,  a  year  after 
the  appearance  of  Charles,  he  set  about  giving  him 
a  party.  "  Invite  everybody,  Char-les,"  he  said, 
dryly ;  "  everybody  who  knows  that  I  brought 
you  out  of  the  wine-husks  of  iniquity,  and  the 
company  of  harlots  ;  and  bid  them  eat,  drink,  and 
be  merry." 

Perhaps  the  old  man  had  another  reason,  not 
yet  clearly  analyzed.  The  fine  house  he  had  built 
on  the  sand-hills  sometimes  seemed  lonely  and 
bare.  He  often  found  himself  trying  to  recon- 
struct, from  the  grave  features  of  Charles,  the  little 
boy  whom  he  but  dimly  remembered  in  the  past, 
and  of  whom  lately  he  had  been  thinking  a  great 
deal  He  believed  this  to  be  a  sign  of  impending 
old  age  and  childishness ;  but  coming,  one  day,  in 
his  formal  drawing-room,  upon  a  child  of  one  of 
the  servants,  who  had  strayed  therein,  he  would 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  127 

have  taken  him  in  his  arms,  but  the  child  fled  from 
before  his  grizzled  face.  So  that  it  seemed  emi- 
nently proper  to  invite  a  number  of  people  to  hi« 
house,  and,  from  the  array  of  San  Francisco  maid- 
enhood, to  select  a  daughter-in-law.  And  then 
there  would  be  a  child  —  a  boy,  whom  he  could 
"rare  up"  from  the  beginning,  and  —  love  —  as 
he  did  not  love  Charles. 

We  were  all  at  the  party.  The  Smiths,  Joneses, 
Browns,  and  Eobinsons  also  came,  in  that  fine  flow 
of  animal  spirits,  unchecked  by  any  respect  for  the 
entertainer,  which  most  of  us  are  apt  to  find  so 
fascinating.  The  proceedings  would  have  been 
somewhat  riotous,  but  for  the  social  position  of 
the  actors.  In  fact,  Mr.  Bracy  Tibbets,  having 
naturally  a  fine  appreciation  of  a  humorous  situa- 
tion, but  further  impelled  by  the  bright  eyes  of  the 
Jones  girls,  conducted  himself  so  remarkably  as  to 
attract  the  serious  regard  of  Mr.  Charles  Thomp- 
son, who  approached  him,  saying  quietly :  "  You 
look  ill,  Mr.  Tibbets ;  let  me  conduct  you  to  your 
carriage.  Kesist,  you  hound,  and  I  '11  throw  you 
through  that  window.  This  way,  please ;  the  room 
is  close  and  distressing."  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
say  that  but  a  part  of  this  speech  was  audible  to 
the  company,  and  that  the  rest  was  not  divulged 
by  Mr.  Tibbets,  who  afterward  regretted  the  sud- 
den illness  which  kept  him  from  witnessing  a  cer- 
tain amusing  incident,  which  the  fastest  Miss  Jones 


128  MB.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

characterized  as  the  "  richest  part  of  the  blow-out," 
and  which  I  hasten  to  record. 

It  was  at  supper.  It  was  evident  that  Mr. 
Thompson  had  overlooked  much  lawlessness  in  the 
conduct  of  the  younger  people,  in  his  abstract  con- 
templation of  some  impending  event.  When  the 
cloth  was  removed,  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  grimly 
tapped  upon  the  table.  A  titter,  that  broke  out 
among  the  Jones  girls,  became  epidemic  on  one 
side  of  the  board.  Charles  Thompson,  from  the 
foot  of  the  table,  looked  up  in  tender  perplexity. 
"  He 's  going  to  sing  a  Doxology,"  "  He  's  going 
to  pray,"  "  Silence  for  a  speech,"  ran  round  the 
room. 

"  It 's  one  year  to-day,  Christian  brothers  and 
sisters,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  with  grim  delibera- 
tion, —  "  one  year  to-day  since  my  son  came  home 
from  eating  of  wine-husks  and  spending  of  his 
substance  on  harlots."  (The  tittering  suddenly 
ceased.)  "Look  at  him  now.  Char-les  Thomp- 
son, stand  up."  (Charles  Thompson  stood  up.) 
"  One  year  ago  to-day,  —  and  look  at  him  now." 

He  was  certainly  a  handsome  prodigal,  standing 
there  in  his  cheerful  evening-dress,  —  a  repentant 
prodigal,  with  sad,  obedient  eyes  turned  upon  the 
harsh  and  unsympathetic  glance  of  his  father. 
The  youngest  Miss  Smith,  from  the  pure  depths  of 
her  foolish  little  heart,  moved  unconsciously  to- 
ward him. 


MB.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  129 

"  It 's  fifteen  years  ago  since  he  left  my  house/' 
said  Mr.  Thompson,  "  a  rovier  and  a  prodigal.  I 
was  myself  a  man  of  sin,  0  Christian  friends,  —  a 
man  of  wrath  and  bitterness"  ("Amen,"  from 
the  eldest  Miss  Smith),  —  "  but  praise  be  God,  I  've 
fled  the  wrath  to  come.  It 's  five  years  ago  since 
I  got  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding.  Have 
you  got  it,  friends  ? "  (A  general  sub-chorus  of 
"  No,  no,"  from  the  girls,  and,  "  Pass  the  word  for 
it,"  from  Midshipman  Coxe,  of  the  U.  S.  sloop 
"Wethersfield.)  "  Knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  to 
you. 

"  And  when  I  found  the  error  of  my  ways,  and 
the  preciousness  of  grace,"  continued  Mr.  Thomp- 
son, "  I  came  to  give  it  to  my  son.  By  sea  and 
land  I  sought  him  far,  and  fainted  not.  I  did  not 
wait  for  him  to  come  to  me,  which  the  same  I 
might  have  done,  and  justified  myself  by  the  Book 
of  books,  but  I  sought  him  out  among  his  husks, 
and  — "  (the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the 
rustling  withdrawal  of  the  ladies).  "Works, 
Christian  friends,  is  my  motto.  By  their  works 
shall  ye  know  them,  and  there  is  mine." 

The  particular  and  accepted  work  to  which  Mr. 
Thompson  was  alluding  had  turned  quite  pale,  and 
was  looking  fixedly  toward  an  open  door  leading 
to  the  veranda,  lately  filled  by  gaping  servants, 
and  now  the  scene  of  some  vague  tumult.  As  the 
noise  continued,  a  man,  shabbily  dressed,  and  evi- 

6*  I 


130  MR.   THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

dently  in  liquor,  broke  through  the  opposing  guar- 
dians, and  staggered  into  the  room.  The  transi- 
tion from  the  fog  and  darkness  without  to  the 
glare  and  heat  within  evidently  dazzled  and  stu- 
pefied him.  He  removed  his  battered  hat,  and 
passed  it  once  or  twice  before  his  eyes,  as  he 
steadied  himself,  but  unsuccessfully,  by  the  back 
of  a  chair.  Suddenly,  his  wandering  glance  fell 
upon  the  pale  face  of  Charles  Thompson ;  and  with 
a  gleam  of  childlike  recognition,  and  a  weak,  fal- 
setto laugh,  he  darted  forward,  caught  at  the  table, 
upset  the  glasses,  and  literally  fell  upon  the  prodi- 
gal's breast. 

"  Sha'ly  I  yo'  d — d  ol'  scoun'rel,  hoo  rar  ye ! " 

"  Hush  !  —  sit  down !  —  hush  ! "  said  Charles 
Thompson,  hurriedly  endeavoring  to  extricate  him- 
self from  the  embrace  of  his  unexpected  guest. 

"  Look  at  'm  ! "  continued  the  stranger,  unheed- 
ing the  admonition,  but  suddenly  holding  the  un- 
fortunate Charles  at  arm's  length,  in  loving  and 
undisguised  admiration  of  his  festive  appearance, 
"  Look  at  'm  !  Ain't  he  nasty  ?  Sha'ls,  I  'm  prow 
of  yer ! " 

"  Leave  the  house  ! "  said  Mr.  Thompson,  rising, 
with  a  dangerous  look  in  his  cold,  gray  eye. 
"  Char-les,  how  dare  you  ? " 

"  Simmer  down,  ole  man !  Sha'ls,  who 's  th'  ol' 
bloat?  Eh?" 

"Hush,  man ;  here,  take  this ! "    With  nervous 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  131 

hands,  Charles  Thompson  filled  a  glass  with  liquor. 
"  Drink  it  and  go  —  until  to-morrow  —  any  time, 
but  —  leave  us  !  —  go  now ! "  But  even  then,  ere 
the  miserable  wretch  could  drink,  the  old  man, 
pale  with  passion,  was  upon  him.  Half  carrying 
him  in  his  powerful  arms,  half  dragging  him 
through  the  circling  crowd  of  frightened  guests,  he 
had  reached  the  door,  swung  open  by  the  waiting 
servants,  when  Charles  Thompson  started  from  a 
seeming  stupor,  crying, — 

"Stop!" 

The  old  man  stopped.  Through  the  open  door 
the  fog  and  wind  drove  chilly.  "  What  does  this 
mean?"  he  asked,  turning  a  baleful  face  on 
Charles. 

"Nothing  —  but  stop  —  for  God's  sake.  Wait 
till  to-morrow,  but  not  to-night.  Do  not  —  I  im- 
plore you  —  do  this  thing." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  the  young 
man's  voice,  something,  perhaps,  in  the  contact 
of  the  struggling  wretch  he  held  in  his  powerful 
arms;  but  a  dim,  indefinite  fear  took  possession 
of  the  old  man's  heart.  "  Who,"  he  whispered, 
hoarsely,  "  is  this  man  ? " 

Charles  did  not  answer. 

"  Stand  back,  there,  all  of  you,"  thundered  Mr. 
Thompson,  to  the  crowding  guests  around  him. 
"  Char-les  —  come  here  !  I  command  you  —  I  — 
I  —  I  —  beg  you  — tell  me  who  is  this  man  ?" 


132  MB.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

Only  two  persons  heard  the  answer  that  came 
faintly  from  the  lips  of  Charles  Thompson,  — 

"YOUR  SON." 

When  day  broke  over  the  bleak  sand-hills,  the 
guests  had  departed  from  Mr.  Thompson's  ban- 
quet-halls. The  lights  still  burned  dimly  and 
coldly  in  the  deserted  rooms,  — deserted  by  all 
but  three  figures,  that  huddled  together  in  the 
chill  drawing-room,  as  if  for  warmth.  One  lay  in 
drunken  slumber  on  a  couch ;  at  his  feet  sat  he 
who  had  been  known  as  Charles  Thompson  ;  and 
beside  them,  haggard  and  shrunken  to  half  his 
size,  bowed  the  figure  of  Mr.  Thompson,  his  gray 
eye  fixed,  his  elbows  upon  his  knees,  and  his  hands 
clasped  over  his  ears,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sad,  en- 
treating voice  that  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 

"God  knows  I  did  not  set  about  to  wilfully 
deceive.  The  name  I  gave  that  night  was  the 
first  that  came  into  my  thought,  —  the  name  of  one 
whom  I  thought  dead,  —  the  dissolute  companion 
of  my  shame.  And  when  you  questioned  further, 
I  used  the  knowledge  that  I  gained  from  him  to 
touch  your  heart  to  set  me  free;  only,  I  swear, 
for  that !  But  when  you  told  me  who  you  were, 
and  I  first  saw  the  opening  of  another  life  before 
me  —  then  —  then —  0,  sir,  if  I  was  hungry, 
homeless,  and  reckless,  when  I  would  have  robbed 
you  of  your  gold,  I  was  heart-sick,  helpless,  and 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  133 

desperate,  when  I  would  have  robbed  you  of  your 
love ! " 

The  old  man  stirred  not.  From  his  luxurious 
couch  the  newly  found  prodigal  snored  peacefully. 

"  I  had  no  father  I  could  claim.  I  never  knew 
a  home  but  this.  I  was  tempted.  I  have  been 
happy,  —  very  happy." 

He  rose  and  stood  before  the  old  man. 

"  Do  not  fear  that  I  shall  come  between  your 
son  and  his  inheritance.  To-day  I  leave  this  place, 
never  to  return.  The  world  is  large,  sir,  and, 
thanks  to  your  kindness,  I  now  see  the  way  by 
which  an  honest  livelihood  is  gained.  Good  by. 
You  will  not  take  my  hand  ?  Well,  well  Good 
by." 

He  turned  to  go.  But  when  he  had  reached  the 
door  he  suddenly  came  back,  and,  raising  with 
both  hands  the  grizzled  head,  he  kissed  it  once 
and  twice. 

"  Char-les." 

There  was  no  reply. 

"Char-les!" 

The  old  man  rose  with  a  frightened  air,  and 
tottered  feebly  to  the  door.  It  was  open.  There 
came  to  him  the  awakened  tumult  of  a  great  city, 
in  which  the  prodigal's  footsteps  were  lost  forever. 


THE  EOMANCE  OF  MADKOSTO  HOLLOW. 

THE  latch  on  the  garden  gate  of  the  Folinsbee 
Eanch  clicked  twice.  The  gate  itself  was  so 
much  in  shadow  that  lovely  night,  that  "  old  man 
Folinsbee,"  sitting  on  his  porch,  could  distinguish 
nothing  but  a  tall  white  hat  and  beside  it  a  few 
fluttering  ribbons,  under  the  pines  that  marked 
the  entrance.  Whether  because  of  this  fact,  or 
that  he  considered  a  sufficient  time  had  elapsed 
since  the  clicking  of  the  latch  for  more  positive 
disclosure,  I  do  not  know;  but  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' hesitation  he  quietly  laid  aside  his  pipe  and 
walked  slowly  down  the  winding  path  toward  the 
gate.  At  the  Ceanothus  hedge  he  stopped  and 
listened. 

There  was  not  much  to  hear.  The  hat  was  say- 
ing to  the  ribbons  that  it  was  a  fine  night,  and  re- 
marking generally  upon  the  clear  outline  of  the 
Sierras  against  the  blue-black  sky.  The  ribbons, 
it  so  appeared,  had  admired  this  all  the  way  home, 
and  asked  the  hat  if  it  had  ever  seen  anything 
half  so  lovely  as  the  moonlight  on  the  summit. 
The  hat  never  had ;  it  recalled  some  lovely  nights 
in  the  South  in  Alabama  ("  in  the  South  in  Ahla- 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.   135 

bahm "  was  the  way  the  old  man  heard  it),  but 
then  there  were  other  things  that  made  this  night 
seem  so  pleasant.  The  ribbons  could  not  possibly 
conceive  what  the  hat  could  be  thinking  about.  At 
this  point  there  was  a  pause,  of  which  Mr.  Folins- 
bee  availed  himself  to  walk  very  grimly  and 
craunchingly  down  the  gravel-walk  toward  the 
gate.  Then  the  hat  was  lifted,  and  disappeared  in 
the  shadow,  and  Mr.  Folinsbee  confronted  only  the 
half-foolish,  half-mischievous,  but  wholly  pretty 
face  of  his  daughter. 

It  was  afterward  known  to  Madrono  Hollow  that 
sharp  words  passed  between  "  Miss  Jo  "  and  the  old 
man,  and  that  the  latter  coupled  the  names  of  one 
Culpepper  Starbottle  and  his  uncle,  Colonel  Star- 
bottle,  with  certain  uncomplimentary  epithets,  and 
that  Miss  Jo  retaliated  sharply.  "  Her  father's 
blood  before  her  father's  face  boiled  up  and  proved 
her  truly  of  his  race,"  quoted  the  blacksmith,  who 
leaned  toward  the  noble  verse  of  Byron.  "  She 
saw  the  old  man's  bluff  and  raised  him,"  was  the 
directer  comment  of  the  college-bred  Masters. 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  these  animadversions 
proceeded  slowly  along  the  road  to  a  point  where 
the  Folinsbee  mansion  came  in  view,  —  a  long, 
narrow,  white  building,  unpretentious,  yet  superior 
to  its  neighbors,  and  bearing  some  evidences  of 
taste  and  refinement  in  the  vines  that  clambered 
over  its  porch,  in  its  French  windows,  and  the 


136       THE  ROMANCE   OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

white  muslin  curtains  that  kept  out  the  fierce  Cali- 
fornia sun  by  day,  and  were  now  touched  with  sil- 
ver in  the  gracious  moonlight.  Culpepper  leaned 
against  the  low  fence,  and  gazed  long  and  earnestly 
at  the  building.  Then  the  moonlight  vanished  ghost- 
like from  one  of  the  windows,  a  material  glow  took 
its  place,  and  a  girlish  figure,  holding  a  candle,  drew 
the  white  curtains  together.  To  Culpepper  it  was 
a  vestal  virgin  standing  before  a  hallowed  shrine  ; 
to  the  prosaic  observer  I  fear  it  was  only  a  fair- 
haired  young  woman,  whose  wicked  black  eyes  still 
shone  with  unfilial  warmth.  Howbeit,  when  the 
figure  had  disappeared  he  stepped  out  briskly  into 
the  moonlight  of  the  high-road.  Here  he  took  off 
his  distinguishing  hat  to  wipe  his  forehead,  and 
the  moon  shone  full  upon  his  face. 

It  was  not  an  unprepossessing  one,  albeit  a  trifle 
too  thin  and  lank  and  bilious  to  be  altogether 
pleasant.  The  cheek-bones  were  prominent,  and 
the  black  eyes  sunken  in  their  orbits.  Straight 
black  hair  fell  slantwise  off  a  high  but  narrow 
forehead,  and  swept  part  of  a  hollow  cheek.  A 
long  black  mustache  followed  the  perpendicular 
curves  of  his  mouth.  It  was  on  the  whole  a  seri- 
ous, even  Quixotic  face,  but  at  times  it  was  relieved 
by  a  rare  smile  of  such  tender  and  even  pathetic 
sweetness,  that  Miss  Jo  is  reported  to  have  said 
that,  if  it  would  only  last  through  the  ceremony, 
she  would  have  married  its  possessor  on  the  spot 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.   137 

"  I  once  told  him  so,"  added  that  shameless  young 
woman  ;  "  but  the  man  instantly  fell  into  a  settled 
melancholy,  and  has  n't  smiled  since." 

A  half-mile  below  the  Folinsbee  Eanch  the  white 
road  dipped  and  was  crossed  by  a  trail  that  ran 
through  Madrono  Hollow.  Perhaps  because  it  was 
a  near  cut-off  to  the  settlement,  perhaps  from  some 
less  practical  reason,  Culpepper  took  this  trail,  and 
in  a  few  moments  stood  among  the  rarely  beautiful 
trees  that  gave  their  name  to  the  valley.  Even  in 
that  uncertain  light  the  weird  beauty  of  these  har- 
lequin masqueraders  was  apparent ;  their  red  trunks 
. —  a  blush  in  the  moonlight,  a  deep  blood-stain  in 
the  shadow  —  stood  out  against  the  silvery  green 
foliage.  It  was  as  if  Nature  in  some  gracious  mo- 
ment had  here  caught  and  crystallized  the  gypsy 
memories  of  the  transplanted  Spaniard,  to  cheer 
him  in  his  lonely  exile. 

As  Culpepper  entered  the  grove  he  heard  loud 
voices.  As  he  turned  toward  a  clump  of  trees,  a 
figure  so  bizarre  and  characteristic  that  it  might 
have  been  a  resident  Daphne  —  a  figure  over- 
dressed in  crimson  silk  and  lace,  with  bare  brown 
arms  and  shoulders,  and  a  wreath  of  honeysuckle 
—  stepped  out  of  the  shadow.  It  was  followed  by 
a  man.  Culpepper  started.  To  come  to  the  point 
briefly,  he  recognized  in  the  man  the  features  of 
his  respected  uncle,  Colonel  Starbottle  ;  in  the  fe- 
male, a  lady  who  may  be  briefly  described  as  one 


138       THE  ROMANCE   OF  MADRO&0  HOLLOW. 

possessing  absolutely  no  claim  to  an  introduction 
to  the  polite  reader.  To  hurry  over  equally  un- 
pleasant details,  both  were  evidently  under  the 
influence  of  liquor. 

From  the  excited  conversation  that  ensued,  Cul- 
pepper  gathered  that  some  insult  had  been  put 
upon  the  lady  at  a  public  ball  which  she  had  at- 
tended that  evening ;  that  the  Colonel,  her  escort, 
had  failed  to  resent  it  with  the  sanguinary  com- 
pleteness that  she  desired.  I  regret  that,  even  in 
a  liberal  age,  I  may  not  record  the  exact  and  even 
picturesque  language  in  which  this  was  conveyed 
to  her  hearers.  Enough  that  at  the  close  of  a  fiery 
peroration,  with  feminine  inconsistency  she  flew  at 
the  gallant  Colonel,  and  would  have  visited  her 
delayed  vengeance  upon  his  luckless  head,  but  for 
the  prompt  interference  of  Culpepper.  Thwarted 
in  this,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  and 
then  into  unpicturesque  hysterics.  There  was  a 
fine  moral  lesson,  not  only  in  this  grotesque  per- 
formance of  a  sex  which  cannot  afford  to  be  gro- 
tesque, but  in  the  ludicrous  concern  with  which 
it  inspired  the  two  men.  Culpepper,  to  whom 
woman  was  more  or  less  angelic,  was  pained  and 
sympathetic  ;  the  Colonel,  to  whom  she  was  more  or 
less  improper,  was  exceedingly  terrified  and  em- 
barrassed. Howbeit  the  storm  was  soon  over,  and 
after  Mistress  Dolores  had  returned  a  little  daggei 
to  its  sheath  (her  garter),  she  quietly  took  herself 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.   139 

out  of  Madrono  Hollow,  and  happily  out  of  these 
pages  forever.  The  two  men,  left  to  themselves, 
conversed  in  low  tones.  Dawn  stole  upon  them 
before  they  separated :  the  Colonel  quite  sobered 
and  in  full  possession  of  his  usual  jaunty  self- 
assertion;  Culpepper  with  a  baleful  glow  in  his 
hollow  cheek,  and  in  his  dark  eyes  a  rising  fire. 

The  next  morning  the  general  ear  of  Madrono 
Hollow  was  filled  with  rumors  of  the  Colonel's 
mishap.  It  was  asserted  that  he  had  been  invited 
to  withdraw  his  female  companion  from  the  floor 
of  the  Assembly  Ball  at  the  Independence  Hotel, 
and  that,  failing  to  do  this,  both  were  expelled.  It 
is  to  be  regretted  that  in  1854  public  opinion  was 
divided  in  regard  to  the  propriety  of  this  step,  and 
that  there  was  some  discussion  as  to  the  compara- 
tive virtue  of  the  ladies  who  were  not  expelled; 
but  it  was  generally  conceded  that  the  real  casus 
belli  was  political.  "  Is  this  a  dashed  Puritan 
meeting  ? "  had  asked  the  Colonel,  savagely.  "  It 's 
no  Pike  County  shindig,"  had  responded  the  floor- 
manager,  cheerfully.  "  You  're  a  Yank  ! "  had 
screamed  the  Colonel,  profanely  qualifying  the 
noun.  "  Get !  you  border  ruffian,"  was  the  reply. 
Such  at  least  was  the  substance  of  the  reports. 
As,  at  that  sincere  epoch,  expressions  like  the 
above  were  usually  followed  by  prompt  action,  a 
fracas  was  confidently  looked  for. 


140        THE  ROMANCE   OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

Nothing,  however,  occurred.  Colonel  Starbottle 
made  his  appearance  next  day  upon  the  streets 
with  somewhat  of  his  usual  pomposity,  a  little 
restrained  by  the  presence  of  his  nephew,  who 
accompanied  him,  and  who,  as  a  universal  favorite, 
also  exercised  some  restraint  upon  the  curious  and 
impertinent.  But  Culpepper's  face  wore  a  look  of 
anxiety  quite  at  variance  with  his  usual  grave  re- 
pose. "  The  Don  don't  seem  to  take  the  old  man's 
set-back  kindly,"  observed  the  sympathizing  black- 
smith. "P'r'aps  he  was  sweet  on  Dolores  him- 
self," suggested  the  sceptical  expressman. 

It  was  a  bright  morning,  a  week  after  this  oc- 
currence, that  Miss  Jo  Folinsbee  stepped  from  her 
garden  into  the  road.  This  time  the  latch  did  not 
click  as  she  cautiously  closed  the  gate  behind  her. 
After  a  moment's  irresolution,  which  would  hava 
been  awkward  but  that  it  was  charmingly  em- 
ployed, after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  in  adjusting  a 
bow  under  a  dimpled  but  rather  prominent  chin, 
and  in  pulling  down  the  fingers  of  a  neatly  fitting 
glove,  she  tripped  toward  the  settlement.  Small 
wonder  that  a  passing  teamster  drove  his  oix 
mules  into  the  wayside  ditch  and  imperilled  hi» 
load,  to  keep  the  dust  from  her  spotless  garments  ; 
small  wonder  that  the  "  Lightning  Express  "  with- 
held its  speed  and  flash  to  let  her  pass,  and  that 
the  expressman,  who  had  never  been  known  to 
exchange  more  than  rapid  monosyllables  with  his 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.   141 

fellow-man,  gazed  after  her  with  breathless  admi- 
ration. For  she  was  certainly  attractive.  In  a 
country  where  the  ornamental  sex  followed  the 
example  of  youthful  Nature,  and  were  prone  to 
overdress  and  glaring  efflorescence,  Miss  Jo's  sim- 
ple and  tasteful  raiment  added  much  to  the  physi- 
cal charm  of,  if  it  did  not  actually  suggest  a  senti- 
ment to,  her  presence.  It  is  said  that  Euchre-deck 
Billy,  working  in  the  gulch  at  the  crossing,  never 
saw  Miss  Folinsbee  pass  but  that  he  always 
remarked  apologetically  to  his  partner,  that  "he 
believed  he  must  write  a  letter  home."  Even  Bill 
Masters,  who  saw  her  in  Paris  presented  to  the 
favorable  criticism  of  that  most  fastidious  man, 
the  late  Emperor,  said  that  she  was  stunning,  but 
a  big  discount  on  what  she  was  at  Madrono 
Hollow. 

It  was  still  early  morning,  but  the  sun,  with 
California  extravagance,  had  already  begun  to  beat 
hotly  on  the  little  chip  hat  and  blue  ribbons,  and 
Miss  Jo  was  obliged  to  seek  the  shade  of  a  by- 
path. Here  she  received  the  timid  advances  of  a 
vagabond  yellow  dog  graciously,  until,  emboldened 
by  his  success,  he  insisted  upon  accompanying  her, 
and,  becoming  slobberingly  demonstrative,  threat- 
ened her  spotless  skirt  with  his  dusty  paws,  when 
she  drove  him  from  her  with  some  slight  acer- 
bity, and  a  stone  which  haply  fell  within  fifty  feet 
of  its  destined  mark  Having  thus  proved  her 


142       THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO   HOLLOW. 

ability  to  defend  herself,  with  characteristic  incon- 
sistency she  took  a  small  panic,  and,  gathering  her 
white  skirts  in  one  hand,  and  holding  the  brim  of 
her  hat  over  her  eyes  with  the  other,  she  ran 
swiftly  at  least  a  hundred  yards  before  she  stopped. 
Then  she  began  picking  some  ferns  and  a  few 
wild-flowers  still  spared  to  the  withered  fields,  and 
then  a  sudden  distrust  of  her  small  ankles  seized 
her,  and  she  inspected  them  narrowly  for  those 
burrs  and  bugs  and  snakes  which  are  supposed  to 
lie  in  wait  for  helpless  womanhood.  Then  she 
plucked  some  golden  heads  of  wild  oats,  and  with 
a  sudden  inspiration  placed  them  in  her  black 
hair,  and  then  came  quite  unconsciously  upon  the 
trail  leading  to  Madrono  Hollow. 

Here  she  hesitated.  Before  her  ran  the  little 
trail,  vanishing  at  last  into  the  bosky  depths  be- 
low. The  sun  was  very  hot.  She  must  be  very 
far  from  home.  Why  should  she  not  rest  awhile 
under  the  shade  of  a  madrono  ? 

She  answered  these  questions  by  going  there  at 
once.  After  thoroughly  exploring  the  grove,  and 
satisfying  herself  that  it  contained  no  other  living 
human  creature,  she  sat  down  under  one  of  the 
largest  trees,  with  a  satisfactory  little  sigh.  Miss 
Jo  loved  the  madrono.  It  was  a  cleanly  tree  ;  no 
dust  ever  lay  upon  its  varnished  leaves ;  its  im- 
maculate shade  never  was  known  to  harbor  grub 
or  insect. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.       143 

She  looked  up  at  the  rosy  arms  interlocked  and 
arched  above  her  head.  She  looked  down  at  the 
delicate  ferns  and  cryptogams  at  her  feet.  Some- 
thing glittered  at  the  root  of  the  tree.  She  picked 
it  up ;  it  was  a  bracelet.  She  examined  it  care- 
fully for  cipher  or  inscription;  there  was  none. 
She  could  not  resist  a  natural  desire  to  clasp  it  on 
her  arm,  and  to  survey  it  from  that  advantageous 
view-point.  This  absorbed  her  attention  for  some 
moments  ;  and  when  she  looked  up  again  she  be- 
held at  a  little  distance  Culpepper  Starbottle. 

He  was  standing  where  he  had  halted,  with  in- 
stinctive delicacy,  on  first  discovering  her.  In- 
deed, he  had  even  deliberated  whether  he  ought 
not  to  go  away  without  disturbing  her.  But  some 
fascination  held  him  to  the  spot.  Wonderful 
power  of  humanity !  Far  beyond  jutted  an  out- 
lying spur  of  the  Sierra,  vast,  compact,  and  silent. 
Scarcely  a  hundred  yards  away,  a  league-long 
chasm  dropped  its  sheer  walls  of  granite  a  thou- 
sand feet.  On  every  side  rose  up  the  serried 
ranks  of  pine-trees,  in  whose  close-set  files  cen- 
turies of  storm  and  change  had  wrought  no  breach. 
Yet  all  this  seemed  to  Culpepper  to  have  been 
planned  by  an  all-wise  Providence  as  the  natural 
background  to  the  figure  of  a  pretty  girl  in  a  yel- 
low dress. 

Although  Miss  Jo  had  confidently  expected  to 
meet  Culpepper  somewhere  in  her  ramble,  now 


144       THE  ROMANCE   OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

that  he  came  upon  her  suddenly,  she  felt  disap- 
pointed and  embarrassed.  His  manner,  too,  was 
more  than  usually  grave  and  serious,  and  more 
than  ever  seemed  to  jar  upon  that  audacious  levity 
which  was  this  giddy  girl's  power  and  security  in 
a  society  where  all  feeling  was  dangerous.  As  he 
approached  her  she  rose  to  her  feet,  but  almost  be- 
fore she  knew  it  he  had  taken  her  hand  and  drawn 
her  to  a  seat  beside  him.  This  was  not  what  Miss 
Jo  had  expected,  but  nothing  is  so  difficult  to  pred- 
icate as  the  exact  preliminaries  of  a  declaration 
of  love. 

What  did  Culpepper  say  ?  Nothing,  I  fear,  that 
will  add  anything  to  the  wisdom  of  the  reader; 
nothing,  I  fear,  that  Miss  Jo  had  not  heard  sub- 
stantially from  other  lips  before.  But  there  was  a 
certain  conviction,  fire-speed,  and  fury  in  the  man- 
ner that  was  deliciously  novel  to  the  young  lady. 
It  was  certainly  something  to  be  courted  in  the 
nineteenth  century  with  all  the  passion  and  ex- 
travagance of  the  sixteenth ;  it  was  something  to 
hear,  amid  the  slang  of  a  frontier  society,  the  lan- 
guage of  knight-errantry  poured  into  her  ear  by 
this  lantern-jawed,  dark-browed  descendant  of  the 
Cavaliers. 

I  do  not  know  that  there  was  anything  more  in 
it.  The  facts,  however,  go  to  show  that  at  a  cer- 
tain point  Miss  Jo  dropped  her  glove,  and  that  in 
recovering  it  Culpepper  possessed  himself  first  of 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.        145 

her  hand  and  then  her  lips.  When  they  stood  up 
to  go  Culpepper  had  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and 
her  black  hair,  with  its  sheaf  of  golden  oats,  rested 
against  the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat.  But  even 
then  I  do  not  think  her  fancy  was  entirely  captive. 
She  took  a  certain  satisfaction  in  this  demonstra- 
tion of  Culpepper's  splendid  height,  and  mentally 
compared  it  with  a  former  flame,  one  Lieutenant 
McMirk,  an  active,  but  under-sized  Hector,  who 
subsequently  fell  a  victim  to  the  incautiously  com- 
posed and  monotonous  beverages  of  a  frontier  gar- 
rison. Nor  was  she  so  much  preoccupied  but  that 
her  quick  eyes,  even  while  absorbing  Culpepper's 
glances,  were  yet  able  to  detect,  at  a  distance,  the 
figure  of  a  man  approaching.  In  an  instant  she 
slipped  out  of  Culpepper's  arm,  and,  whipping 
her  hands  behind  her,  said,  "  There  's  that  horrid 
man!" 

Culpepper  looked  up  and  beheld  his  respected 
uncle  panting  and  blowing  over  the  hill.  His 
brow  contracted  as  he  turned  to  Miss  Jo :  "  You 
don't  like  my  uncle ! " 

"  I  hate  him  I  "  Miss  Jo  was  recovering  her 
ready  tongue. 

Culpepper  blushed.  He  would  have  liked  to 
enter  upon  some  details  of  the  Colonel's  pedigree 
and  exploits,  but  there  was  not  time.  He  only 
smiled  sadly.  The  smile  melted  Miss  Jo.  She 
held  out  her  hand  quickly,  and  said  with  even 


146       THE  ROMANCE   OF  MADRO&0  HOLLOW. 

more  than  her  usual  effrontery,  "  Don't  let  that 
man  get  you  into  any  trouble.  Take  care  of  your- 
self, dear,  and  don't  let  anything  happen  to  you." 

Miss  Jo  intended  this  speech  to  be  pathetic; 
the  tenure  of  life  among  her  lovers  had  hitherto 
been  very  uncertain.  Culpepper  turned  toward 
her,  but  she  had  already  vanished  in  the  thicket. 

The  Colonel  came  up  panting.  "  I  Ve  looked 
all  over  town  for  you,  and  be  dashed  to  you,  sir. 
Who  was  that  with  you  ? " 

"A  lady."  (Culpepper  never  lied,  but  he  was 
discreet.) 

"  D — m  'em  all !  Look  yar,  Gulp,  I  Ve  spotted 
the  man  who  gave  the  order  to  put  me  off  the 
floor  "  ("  flo"  was  what  the  Colonel  said)  "  the  other 
night!" 

"Who  was  it ? "  asked  Culpepper,  listlessly. 

"JackFolinsbee." 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  the  son  of  that  dashed  nigger- worship- 
ping psalm-singing  Puritan  Yankee.  What 's  the 
matter,  now  ?  Look  yar,  Gulp,  you  ain't  goin'  back 
on  your  blood,  ar'  ye  ?  You  ain't  goin'  back  on 
your  word  ?  Ye  ain't  going  down  at  the  feet  of 
this  trash,  like  a  whipped  hound  ? " 

Culpepper  was  silent.  He  was  very  white. 
Presently  he  looked  up  and  said  quietly,  "  No." 

Culpepper  Starbottle  had  challenged  Jack  Fol- 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.       147 

insbee,  and  the  challenge  was  accepted.  The  cause 
alleged  was  the  expelling  of  Culpepper's  uncle  from 
the  floor  of  the  Assembly  Ball  by  the  order  of 
Folinsbee.  This  much  Madrono  Hollow  knew  and 
could  swear  to ;  but  there  were  other  strange  ru- 
mors afloat,  of  which  the  blacksmith  was  an  able 
expounder.  "  You  see,  gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the 
crowd  gathered  around  his  anvil,  "  I  ain't  got  no 
theory  of  this  affair,  I  only  give  a  few  facts  as  have 
come  to  my  knowledge.  Culpepper  and  Jack 
meets  quite  accidental  like  in  Bob's  saloon.  Jack 
goes  up  to  Culpepper  and  says, '  A  word  with  you.' 
Culpepper  bows  and  steps  aside  in  this  way,  Jack 
standing  about  here"  (The  blacksmith  demon- 
strates the  position  of  the  parties  with  two  old 
horseshoes  on  the  anvil.)  "  Jack  pulls  a  bracelet 
from  his  pocket  and  says,  'Do  you  know  that 
bracelet  ? '  Culpepper  says,  '  I  do  not,'  quite  cool- 
like  and  easy.  Jack  says, '  You  gave  it  to  my  sis- 
ter.' Culpepper  says,  still  cool  as  you  please, '  I  did 
not.'  Jack  says,  '  You  lie,  G — d  d — mn  you,'  and 
draws  his  derringer.  Culpepper  jumps  forward 
about  here  "  (reference  is  made  to  the  diagram) 
"  and  Jack  fires.  Nobody  hit.  It 's  a  mighty  cu- 
r'o's  thing,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  blacksmith, 
dropping  suddenly  into  the  abstract,  and  leaning 
meditatively  on  his  anvil,  —  "  it 's  a  mighty  cur'o's 
thing  that  nobody  gets  hit  so  often.  You  and  me 
empties  our  revolvers  sociably  at  each  other  over  a 


148       THE  ROMANCE   OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

little  game,  and  the  room  full  and  nobody  gets  hit  I 
That 's  what  gets  me." 

"  Never  mind,  Thompson,"  chimed  in  Bill  Mas- 
ters, "  there  's  another  and  a  better  world  where 
we  shall  know  all  that  and  —  become  better  shots. 
Go  on  with  your  story." 

"Well,  some  grabs  Culpepper  and  some  grabs 
Jack,  and  so  separates  them.  Then  Jack  tells  'em 
as  how  he  had  seen  his  sister  wear  a  bracelet  which 
he  knew  was  one  that  had  been  given  to  Dolores 
by  Colonel  Starbottle.  That  Miss  Jo  wouldn't 
say  where  she  got  it,  but  owned  up  to  having  seen 
Culpepper  that  day.  Then  the  most  cur'o's  thing 
of  it  yet,  what  does  Culpepper  do  but  rise  up  and 
takes  all  back  that  he  said,  and  allows  that  he  did 
give  her  the  bracelet.  Now  my  opinion,  gentle- 
men, is  that  he  lied ;  it  ain't  like  that  man  to  give 
a  gal  that  he  respects  anything  off  of  that  piece, 
Dolores.  But  it 's  all  the  same  now,  and  there 's 
but  one  thing  to  be  done." 

The  way  this  one  thing  was  done  belongs  to  the 
record  of  Madrono  Hollow.  The  morning  was 
bright  and  clear;  the  air  was  slightly  chill,  but 
that  was  from  the  mist  which  arose  along  the  banks 
of  the  river.  As  early  as  six  o'clock  the  desig- 
nated ground  —  a  little  opening  in  the  madrono 
grove  —  was  occupied  by  Culpepper  Starbottle, 
Colonel  Starbottle,  his  second,  and  the  surgeon. 
The  Colonel  was  exalted  and  excited,  albeit  in  a 


THE  ROMANCE   OF  MADROftO   HOLLOW.       149 

rather  imposing,  dignified  way,  and  pointed  out  to 
the  surgeon  the  excellence  of  the  ground,  which  at 
that  hour  was  wholly  shaded  from  the  sun,  whose 
steady  stare  is  more  or  less  discomposing  to  your 
duellist.  The  surgeon  threw  himself  on  the  grass 
and  smoked  his  cigar.  Culpepper,  quiet  and 
thoughtful,  leaned  against  a  tree  and  gazed  up  the 
river.  There  was  a  strange  suggestion  of  a  picnic 
about  the  group,  which  was  heightened  when  the 
Colonel  drew  a  bottle  from  his  coat-tails,  and,  tak- 
ing a  preliminary  draught,  offered  it  to  the  others. 
"  Cocktails,  sir,"  he  explained  with  dignified  pre- 
cision. "A  gentleman,  sir,  should  never  go  out 
without  'em.  Keeps  off  the  morning  chill.  I  re- 
member going  out  in  '53  with  Hank  Boompirater. 
Good  ged,  sir,  the  man  had  to  put  on  his  overcoat, 
and  was  shot  in  it.  Fact. " 

But  the  noise  of  wheels  drowned  the  Colonel's 
reminiscences,  and  a  rapidly  driven  buggy,  contain- 
ing Jack  Folinsbee,  Calhoun  Bungstarter,  his  sec- 
ond, and  Bill  Masters,  drew  up  on  the  ground. 
Jack  Folinsbee  leaped  out  gayly.  "  I  had  the  jol- 
liest  work  to  get  away  without  the  governor's 
hearing,"  he  began,  addressing  the  group  before  him 
with  the  greatest  volubility.  Calhoun  Bungstarter 
touched  his  arm,  and  the  young  man  blushed.  It 
was  his  first  duel. 

"  If  you  are  ready,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Bung- 
starter,  "we  had  better  proceed  to  business.  I 


150       THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

believe  it  is  understood  that  no  apology  will  t>e 
offered  or  accepted.  We  may  as  well  settle  pre- 
liminaries at  once,  or  I  fear  we  shall  be  interrupted. 
There  is  a  rumor  in  town  that  the  Vigilance  Com- 
mittee are  seeking  our  friends  the  Starbottles,  and 
I  believe,  as  their  fellow-countryman,  I  have  the 
honor  to  be  included  in  their  warrant." 

At  this  probability  of  interruption,  that  gravity 
which  had  hitherto  been  wanting  fell  upon  the 
group.  The  preliminaries  were  soon  arranged  and 
the  principals  placed  in  position.  Then  there  was 
a  silence. 

To  a  spectator  from  the  hill,  impressed  with  the 
picnic  suggestion,  what  might  have  been  the  pop- 
ping of  two  champagne  corks  broke  the  stillness. 

Culpepper  had  fired  in  the  air.  Colonel  Star- 
bottle  uttered  a  low  curse.  Jack  Folinsbee  sulkily 
demanded  another  shot. 

Again  the  parties  stood  opposed  to  each  other. 
Again  the  word  was  given,  and  what  seemed  to  be 
the  simultaneous  report  of  both  pistols  rose  upon 
the  air.  But  after  an  interval  of  a  few  seconds  all 
were  surprised  to  see  Culpepper  slowly  raise  his 
unexploded  weapon  and  fire  it  harmlessly  above 
his  head.  Then,  throwing  the  pistol  upon  the 
ground,  he  walked  to  a  tree  and  leaned  silently 
against  it. 

Jack  Folinsbee  flew  into  a  paroxysm  of  fury. 
Colonel  Starbottle  raved  and  swore.  Mr.  Bung- 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRO&0  HOLLOW.   151 

starter  was  properly  shocked  at  their  conduct 
"Keally,  gentlemen,  if  Mr.  Culpepper  Starbottle 
declines  another  shot,  I  do  not  see  how  we  can 
proceed." 

But  the  Colonel's  blood  was  up,  and  Jack  Fol- 
insbee  was  equally  implacable.  A  hurried  consul- 
tation ensued,  which  ended  by  Colonel  Starbottle 
taking  his  nephew's  place  as  principal,  Bill  Masters 
acting  as  second,  vice  Mr.  Bungstarter,  who  de- 
clined all  further  connection  with  the  affair. 

Two  distinct  reports  rang  through  the  Hollow. 
Jack  Folinsbee  dropped  his  smoking  pistol,  took  a 
step  forward,  and  then  dropped  heavily  upon  his 
face. 

In  a  moment  the  surgeon  was  at  his  side.  The 
confusion  was  heightened  by  the  trampling  of 
hoofs,  and  the  voice  of  the  blacksmith  bidding 
them  flee  for  their  lives  before  the  coming  storm. 
A  moment  more  and  the  ground  was  cleared,  and 
the  surgeon,  looking  up,  beheld  only  the  white  face 
of  Culpepper  bending  over  him. 

"  Can  you  save  him  ? " 

"  I  cannot  say.  Hold  up  his  head  a  moment, 
while  I  run  to  the  buggy." 

Culpepper  passed  his  arm  tenderly  around  the 
neck  of  the  insensible  man.  Presently  the  sur- 
geon returned  with  some  stimulants. 

"  There,  that  will  do,  Mr.  Starbottle,  thank  you. 
Now  my  advice  is  to  get  away  from  here  while 


152        THE  ROMANCE   OF  MADBOftO  HOLLOW. 

you  can.      I  '11  look  after    Folinsbee.      Do  you 
hear  ? " 

Culpepper's  arm  was  still  round  the  neck  of  his 
late  foe,  but  his  head  had  drooped  and  fallen  on 
the  wounded  man's  shoulder.  The  surgeon  looked 
down,  and,  catching  sight  of  his  face,  stooped  and 
lifted  him  gently  in  his  arms.  He  opened  his  coat 
and  waistcoat.  There  was  blood  upon  his  shirt, 
and  a  bullet-hole  in  his  breast.  He  had  besn  shot 
unto  death  at  the  first  fire. 


THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT. 

AS  the  enterprising  editor  of  the  "  Sierra  Flat 
Record  "  stood  at  his  case  setting  type  for 
his  next  week's  paper,  he  could  not  help  hearing 
the  woodpeckers  who  were  busy  on  the  roof  above 
his  head.  It  occurred  to  him  that  possibly  the 
birds  had  not  yet  learned  to  recognize  in  the  rude 
structure  any  improvement  on  nature,  and  this  idea 
pleased  him  so  much  that  he  incorporated  it  in  the 
editorial  article  which  he  was  then  doubly  compos- 
ing. For  the  editor  was  also  printer  of  the  "  Rec- 
ord " ;  and  although  that  remarkable  journal  was 
reputed  to  exert  a  power  felt  through  all  Cala- 
veras  and  a  greater  part  of  Tuolumne  County,  strict 
economy  was  one  of  the  conditions  of  its  beneficent 
existence. 

Thus  preoccupied,  he  was  startled  by  the  sudden 
irruption  of  a  small  roll  of  manuscript,  which  was 
thrown  through  the  open  door  and  fell  at  his  feet. 
He  walked  quickly  to  the  threshold  and  looked 
down  the  tangled  trail  which  led  to  the  high-road. 
But  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  the  presence  of 
his  mysterious  contributor.  A  hare  limped  slowly 
away,  a  green-and-gold  lizard  paused  upon  a  pine 


154  THE  POET   OF  SIERRA  FLAT. 

stump,  the  woodpeckers  ceased  their  work.  So 
complete  had  been  his  sylvan  seclusion,  that  he 
found  it  difficult  to  connect  any  human  agency 
with  the  act ;  rather  the  hare  seemed  to  have  an 
inexpressibly  guilty  look,  the  woodpeckers  to  main- 
tain a  significant  silence,  and  the  lizard  to  be  con- 
science-stricken into  stone. 

An  examination  of  the  manuscript,  however, 
corrected  this  injustice  to  defenceless  nature.  It 
was  evidently  of  human  origin,  —  being  verse,  and 
of  exceeding  bad  quality.  The  editor  laid  it 
aside.  As  he  did  so  he  thought  he  saw  a  face  at 
the  window.  Sallying  out  in  some  indignation,  he 
penetrated  the  surrounding  thicket  in  every  direc- 
tion, but  his  search  was  as  fruitless  as  before.  The 
poet,  if  it  were  he,  was  gone. 

A  few  days  after  this  the  editorial  seclusion  was 
invaded  by  voices  of  alternate  expostulation  and 
entreaty.  Stepping  to  the  door,  the  editor  was 
amazed  at  beholding  Mr.  Morgan  McCorkle,  a  well- 
Jmown  citizen  of  Angelo,  and  a  subscriber  to  the 
"  Kecord,"  in  the  act  of  urging,  partly  by  force  and 
partly  by  argument,  an  awkward  young  man  toward 
the  building.  When  he  had  finally  effected  his 
object,  and,  as  it  were,  safely  landed  his  prize  in  a 
chair,  Mr.  McCorkle  took  off  his  hat,  carefully 
wiped  the  narrow  isthmus  of  forehead  which  di- 
vided his  black  brows  from  his  stubby  hair, 
with  an  explanatory  wave  of  his 


THE  POET   OF  SIERRA  FLAT.  155 

reluctant  companion,  said, "  A  borned  poet,  and  the 
cussedest  fool  you  ever  seed  ! " 

Accepting  the  editor's  smile  as  a  recognition  of 
the  introduction,  Mr.  McCorkle  panted  and  went 
on :  "  Did  n't  want  to  come !  '  Mister  Editor  don't 
want  to  see  me,  Morg,'  sez  he.  '  Milt,'  sez  I,  '  he 
do ;  a  borned  poet  like  you  and  a  gifted  genius  like 
he  oughter  come  together  sociable ! '  And  I  fetched 
him.  Ah,  will  yer  ? "  The  born  poet  had,  after 
exhibiting  signs  of  great  distress,  started  to  run. 
But  Mr.  McCorkle  was  down  upon  him  instantly, 
seizing  him  by  his  long  linen  coat,  and  settled  him 
back  in  his  chair.  "'T  ain't  no  use  stampeding. 
Yer  ye  are  and  yer  ye  stays.  For  yer  a  borned 
poet,  —  ef  ye  are  as  shy  as  a  jackass  rabbit.  Look 
at  'im  now !  " 

He  certainly  was  not  an  attractive  picture. 
There  was  hardly  a  notable  feature  in  his  weak 
face,  except  his  eyes,  which  were  moist  and  shy 
and  not  unlike  the  animal  to  which  Mr.  McCorkle 
had  compared  him.  It  was  the  face  that  the 
editor  had  seen  at  the  window. 

"  Knowed  him  for  fower  year,  —  since  he  war  a 
boy,"  continued  Mr.  McCorkle  in  a  loud  whisper. 
"  Allers  the  same,  bless  you  !  Can  jerk  a  rhyme  as 
easy  as  turnin'  jack.  Never  had  any  eddication ; 
lived  out  in  Missooray  all  his  life.  But  he  's  chock 
full  o'  poetry.  On'y  this  mornin'  sez  I  to  him,  — 
he  camps  along  o'  me,  — '  Milt ! '  sez  I, '  are  break- 


156  THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT. 

fast  ready?'  and  he  up  and  answers  back  quite 
peart  arid  chipper,  '  The  breakfast  it  is  ready,  and 
the  birds  is  singing  free,  and  it 's  risin'  in  the  dawn- 
in'  light  is  happiness  to  me  ! '  When  a  man,"  said 
Mr.  McCorkle,  dropping  his  voice  with  deep  so- 
lemnity, "  gets  off  things  like  them,  without  any 
call  to  do  it,  and  handlin'  flapjacks  over  a  cook- 
stove  at  the  same  time,  —  that  man's  a  borned 
poet." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Mr.  McCorkle 
beamed  patronizingly  on  his  protSgS.  The  born 
poet  looked  as  if  he  were  meditating  another  flight, 
—  not  a  metaphorical  one.  The  editor  asked  if  he 
could  do  anything  for  them. 

"In  course  you  can,"  responded  Mr.  McCorkle, 
"  that 's  jest  it.  Milt,  where 's  that  poetry  ? " 

The  editor's  countenance  fell  as  the  poet  pro- 
duced from  his  pocket  a  roll  of  manuscript.  He; 
however,  took  it  mechanically  and  glanced  over  it. 
It  was  evidently  a  duplicate  of  the  former  myste- 
rious contribution. 

The  editor  then  spoke  briefly  but  earnestly.  I 
regret  that  I  cannot  recall  his  exact  words,  but  it 
appeared  that  never  before,  in  the  history  of  the 
"  Eecord,"  had  the  pressure  been  so  great  upon  its 
columns.  Matters  of  paramount  importance,  deep- 
ly affecting  the  material  progress  of  Sierra,  ques- 
tions touching  the  absolute  integrity  of  Calaveras 
and  Tuolumne  as  social  communities,  were  even 


THE  POET   OF   SIERRA  FLAT.  157 

now  waiting  expression.  Weeks,  nay,  months,  must 
elapse  before  that  pressure  would  be  removed,  and 
the  "  Eecord  "  could  grapple  with  any  but  the  stern- 
est of  topics.  Again,  the  editor  had  noticed  with 
pain  the  absolute  decline  of  poetry  in  the  foot-hills 
of  the  Sierras.  Even  the  works  of  Byron  and 
Moore  attracted  no  attention  in  Dutch  Flat,  and  a 
prejudice  seemed  to  exist  against  Tennyson  in 
Grass  Valley.  But  the  editor  was  not  without 
hope  for  the  future.  In  the  course  of  four  or  five 
years,  when  the  country  was  settled,  — 

"  What  would  be  the  cost  to  print  this  yer  ? " 
interrupted  Mr.  McCorkle,  quietly. 

"  About  fifty  dollars,  as  an  advertisement,"  re- 
sponded the  editor  with  cheerful  alacrity. 

Mr.  McCorkle  placed  the  sum  in  the  editor's 
hand.  "  Yer  see  thet  's  what  I  sez  to  Milt, '  Milt/ 
sez  I, '  pay  as  you  go,  for  you  are  a  borned  poet. 
Hevin  no  call  to  write,  but  doin'  it  free  and  spon- 
taneous like,  in  course  you  pays.  Thet 's  why  Mr. 
Editor  never  printed  your  poetry.'  " 

"What  name  shall  I  put  to  it?"  asked  the 
editor. 

"  Milton." 

It  was  the  first  word  that  the  born  poet  had 
spoken  during  the  interview,  and  his  voice  was  so 
very  sweet  and  musical  that  the  editor  looked  at 
him  curiously,  and  wondered  if  he  had  a  sister. 

"Milton;  is  that  all?" 


158  THE  POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT. 

"  Thet  's  his  furst  name,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Mc- 
Corkle. 

The  editor  here  suggested  that  as  there  had  been 
another  poet  of  that  name  — 

"  Milt  might  be  took  for  him !  Thet  's  bad," 
reflected  Mr.  McCorkle  with  simple  gravity. 
"  Well,  put  down  his  hull  name,  —  Milton  Chub- 
buck." 

The  editor  made  a  note  of  the  fact.  "  I  '11  set  it 
up  now,"  he  said.  This  was  also  a  hint  that  the 
interview  was  ended.  The  poet  and  patron,  arm 
in  arm,  drew  towards  the  door.  "  In  next  week's 
paper,"  said  the  editor,  smilingly,  in  answer  to  the 
childlike  look  of  inquiry  in  the  eyes  of  the  poet, 
and  in  another  moment  they  were  gone. 

The  editor  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  straight- 
way betook  himself  to  his  case,  and,  unrolling  the 
manuscript,  began  his  task  The  woodpeckers  on 
the  roof  recommenced  theirs,  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  former  sylvan  seclusion  was  restored.  There 
was  no  sound  in  the  barren,  barn-like  room  but  the 
birds  above,  and  below  the  click  of  the  composing- 
rule  as  the  editor  marshalled  the  types  into  lines 
in  his  stick,  and  arrayed  them  in  solid  column  on 
the  galley.  Whatever  might  have  been  his  opinion 
of  the  copy  before  him,  there  was  no  indication  of 
it  in  his  face,  which  wore  the  stolid  indifference  of 
his  craft.  Perhaps  this  was  unfortunate,  for  as  the 
day  wore  on  and  the  level  rays  of  the  sun  began 


THE  POET   OF   SIERRA  FLAT.  159 

to  pierce  the  adjacent  thicket,  they  sought  out  and 
discovered  an  anxious  ambushed  figure  drawn  up 
beside  the  editor's  window,  —  a  figure  that  had  sat 
there  motionless  for  hours.  Within,  the  editor 
worked  on  as  steadily  and  impassively  as  Fate. 
And  without,  the  born  poet  of  Sierra  Flat  sat  and 
watched  him  as  waiting  its  decree. 

The  effect  of  the  poem  on  Sierra  Flat  was  re- 
markable and  unprecedented.  The  absolute  vile- 
ness  of  its  doggerel,  the  gratuitous  imbecility  of 
its  thought,  and  above  all  the  crowning  audacity 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  the  work  of  a  citizen  and 
published  in  the  county  paper,  brought  it  instantly 
into  popularity.  For  many  months  Calaveras  had 
languished  for  a  sensation ;  since  the  last  vigilance 
committee  nothing  had  transpired  to  dispel  the 
listless  ennui  begotten  of  stagnant  business  and 
growing  civilization.  In  more  prosperous  mo- 
ments the  office  of  the  "  Eecord  "  would  have  been 
simply  gutted  and  the  editor  deported ;  at  present 
the  paper  was  in  such  demand  that  the  edition 
was  speedily  exhausted.  In  brief,  the  poem  of 
Mr.  Milton  Chubbuck  came  like  a  special  provi- 
dence to  Sierra  Flat.  It  was  read  by  camp-fires, 
in  lonely  cabins,  in  flaring  bar-rooms  and  noisy 
saloons,  and  declaimed  from  the  boxes  of  stage- 
coaches. It  was  sung  in  Poker  Flat  with  the  ad- 
dition of  a  local  chorus,  and  danced  as  an  unhal- 


160       THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT. 

lowed  rhythmic  dance  by  the  Pyrrhic  phalanx  of 
One  Horse  Gulch,  known  as  "  The  Festive  Stags 
of  Calaveras."  Some  unhappy  ambiguities  of  ex- 
pression gave  rise  to  many  new  readings,  notes, 
and  commentaries,  which,  I  regret  to  state,  were 
more  often  marked  by  ingenuity  than  delicacy  of 
thought  or  expression. 

Never  before  did  poet  acquire  such  sudden  local 
reputation.  From  the  seclusion  of  McCorkle's 
cabin  and  the  obscurity  of  culinary  labors,  he  was 
haled  forth  into  the  glowing  sunshine  of  Fame. 
The  name  of  Chubbuck  was  written  in  letters  of 
chalk  on  unpainted  walls,  and  carved  with  a  pick 
on  the  sides  of  tunnels.  A  drink  known  variously 
as  "  The  Chubbuck  Tranquillizer,"  or  "  The  Chub- 
buck  Exalter,"  was  dispensed  at  the  bars.  For 
some  weeks  a  rude  design  for  a  Chubbuck  statue, 
made  up  of  illustrations  from  circus  and  melodeon 
posters,  representing  the  genius  of  Calaveras  in 
brief  skirts  on  a  flying  steed  in  the  act  of  crown- 
ing the  poet  Chubbuck,  was  visible  at  Keeler's 
Ferry.  The  poet  himself  was  overborne  with  in- 
vitations to  drink  and  extravagant  congratulations. 
The  meeting  between  Colonel  Starbottle  of  Sisky- 
ion  and  Chubbuck,  as  previously  arranged  by  our 
"Boston,"  late  of  Eoaring  Camp,  is  said  to  have 
been  indescribably  affecting.  The  Colonel  em- 
braced him  unsteadily.  "I  could  not  return  to 
my  constituents  at  Siskyion,  sir,  if  this  hand, 


THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT.       161 

which  has  grasped  that  of  the  gifted  Prentice  and 
the  lamented  Poe,  should  not  have  been  honored 
by  the  touch  of  the  godlike  Chubbuck.  Gentle- 
men, American  literature  is  looking  up.  Thank 
you,  I  will  take  sugar  in  mine."  It  was  "  Boston  " 
who  indited  letters  of  congratulations  from  H.  W. 
Longfellow,  Tennyson,  and  Browning,  to  Mr.  Chub- 
buck,  deposited  them  in  the  Sierra  Flat  post-office, 
and  obligingly  consented  to  dictate  the  replies. 

The  simple  faith  and  unaffected  delight  with 
which  these  manifestations  were  received  by  the 
poet  and  his  patron  might  have  touched  the  hearts 
of  these  grim  masters  of  irony,  but  for  the  sudden 
and  equal  development  in  both  of  the  variety  of 
weak  natures.  Mr.  McCorkle  basked  in  the  popu- 
larity of  his  protege,  and  became  alternately  super- 
cilious or  patronizing  toward  the  dwellers  of  Sierra 
Flat ;  while  the  poet,  with  hair  carefully  oiled  and 
curled,  and  bedecked  with  cheap  jewelry  and 
flaunting  neck-handkerchief,  paraded  himself  be- 
fore the  single  hotel.  As  may  be  imagined,  this 
new  disclosure  of  weakness  afforded  intense  satis- 
faction to  Sierra  Flat,  gave  another  lease  of  popu- 
larity to  the  poet,  and  suggested  another  idea  to 
the  facetious  "  Boston." 

At  that  time  a  young  lady  popularly  and  pro- 
fessionally known  as  the  "  California  Pet "  was  per- 
forming to  enthusiastic  audiences  in  the  interior. 
Her  specialty  lay  in  the  personation  of  youthful 


162  THE  POET   OF   SIERRA  FLAT. 

masculine  character ;  as  a  gamin  of  the  street  she 
was  irresistible,  as  a  negro-dancer  she  carried  the 
honest  miner's  heart  by  storm.  A  saucy,  pretty 
brunette,  she  had  preserved  a  wonderful  moral 
reputation  even  under  the  Jove-like  advances  of 
showers  of  gold  that  greeted  her  appearance  on 
the  stage  at  Sierra  Flat.  A  prominent  and  de- 
lighted member  of  that  audience  was  Milton  Chub- 
buck.  He  attended  every  night.  Every  day  he 
lingered  at  the  door  of  the  Union  Hotel  for  a 
glimpse  of  the  "  California  Pet."  It  was  not  long 
before  he  received  a  note  from  her,  —  in  "Bos- 
ton's "  most  popular  and  approved  female  hand,  — 
acknowledging  his  admiration.  It  was  not  long 
before  "  Boston  "  was  called  upon  to  indite  a  suit- 
able reply.  At  last,  in  furtherance  of  his  facetious 
design,  it  became  necessary  for  "  Boston "  to  call 
upon  the  young  actress  herself  and  secure  her  per- 
sonal participation.  To  her  he  unfolded  a  plan, 
the  successful  carrying  out  of  which  he  felt  would 
secure  his  fame  to  posterity  as  a  practical  humor- 
ist. The  "California  Pet's"  black  eyes  sparkled 
approvingly  and  mischievously.  She  only  stipu- 
lated that  she  should  see  the  man  first,  —  a  con- 
cession to  her  feminine  weakness  which  years  of 
dancing  Juba  and  wearing  trousers  and  boots  had 
not  wholly  eradicated  from  her  wilful  breast.  By 
all  means,  it  should  be  done.  And  the  interview 
was  arranged  for  the  next  week.  ;. 


THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT.       163 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  during  this  inter- 
val of  popularity  Mr.  Chubbuck  had  been  unmind- 
ful of  his  poetic  qualities.  A  certain  portion  of 
each  day  he  was  absent  from  town,  —  "a  com- 
munin'  with  natur',"  as  Mr.  McCorkle  expressed 
it, —  and  actually  wandering  in  the  mountain 
trails,  or  lying  on  his  back  under  the  trees,  or 
gathering  fragrant  herbs  and  the  bright-colored 
berries  of  the  Marzanita.  These  and  his  company 
he  generally  brought  to  the  editor's  office,  late  in 
the  afternoon,  often  to  that  enterprising  journal- 
ist's infinite  weariness.  Quiet  and  uncommunica- 
tive, he  would  sit  there  patiently  watching  him  at 
his  work  until  the  hour  for  closing  the  office  ar- 
rived, when  he  would  as  quietly  depart.  There 
was  something  so  humble  and  unobtrusive  in  these 
visits,  that  the  editor  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart 
to  deny  them,  and  accepting  them,  like  the  wood- 
peckers, as  a  part  of  his  sylvan  surroundings,  often 
forgot  even  his  presence.  Once  or  twice,  moved 
by  some  beauty  of  expression  in  the  moist,  shy 
eyes,  he  felt  like  seriously  admonishing  his  visitor 
of  his  idle  folly ;  but  his  glance  falling  upon  the 
oiled  hair  and  the  gorgeous  necktie,  he  invariably 
thought  better  of  it.  The  case  was  evidently 
hopeless. 

The  interview  between  Mr.  Chubbuck  and  the 
"  California  Pet "  took  place  in  a  private  room  of 
the  Union  Hotel;  propriety  being  respected  bjr 


164       THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT. 

the  presence  of  that  arch-humorist,  "  Boston."  To 
this  gentleman  we  are  indebted  for  the  only  true 
account  of  the  meeting.  However  reticent  Mr. 
Chubbuck  might  have  been  in  the  presence  of  his 
own  sex,  toward  the  fairer  portion  of  humanity  he 
was,  like  most  poets,  exceedingly  voluble.  Accus- 
tomed as  the  "  California  Pet "  had  been  to  exces- 
sive compliment,  she  was  fairly  embarrassed  by 
the  extravagant  praises  of  her  visitor.  Her  per- 
sonation of  boy  characters,  her  dancing  of  the 
"champion  jig,"  were  particularly  dwelt  upon 
with  fervid  but  unmistakable  admiration.  At 
last,  recovering  her  audacity  and  emboldened  by 
the  presence  of  "Boston,"  the  "California  Pet'* 
electrified  her  hearers  by  demanding,  half  jestingly, 
half  viciously,  if  it  were  as  a  boy  or  a  girl  that  she 
was  the  subject  of  his  flattering  admiration. 

"  That  knocked  him  out  o'  time,"  said  the  de- 
lighted "  Boston,"  in  his  subsequent  account  of  the 
interview.  "  But  do  you  believe  the  d — d  fool 
actually  asked  her  to  take  him  with  her ;  wanted 
to  engage  in  the  company." 

The  plan,  as  briefly  unfolded  by  "  Boston,"  was 
to  prevail  upon  Mr.  Chubbuck  to  make  his  appear- 
ance in  costume  (already  designed  and  prepared 
by  the  inventor)  before  a  Sierra  Flat  audience,  and 
recite  an  original  poem  at  the  Hall  immediately 
on  the  conclusion  of  the  "  California  Pet's "  per- 
formance. At  a  given  signal  the  audience  were  to 


THE   POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT.  165 

rise  and  deliver  a  volley  of  unsavory  articles  (pre- 
viously provided  by  the  originator  of  the  scheme)  ; 
then  a  select  few  were  to  rush  on  the  stage,  seize 
the  poet,  and,  after  marching  him  in  triumphal 
procession  through  town,  were  to  deposit  him  be- 
yond its  uttermost  limits,  with  strict  injunctions 
never  to  enter  it  again.  To  the  first  part  of  the 
plan  the  poet  was  committed,  for  the  latter  portion 
it  was  easy  enough  to  find  participants. 

The  eventful  night  came,  and  with  it  an  audi- 
ence that  packed  the  long  narrow  room  with  one 
dense  mass  of  human  beings.  The  "California 
Pet  "  never  had  been  so  joyous,  so  reckless,  so  fas- 
cinating and  audacious  before.  But  the  applause 
was  tame  and  weak  compared  to  the  ironical  out- 
burst that  greeted  the  second  rising  of  the  curtain 
and  the  entrance  of  the  born  poet  of  Sierra  Flat. 
Then  there  was  a  hush  of  expectancy,  and  the  poet 
stepped  to  the  foot-lights  and  stood  with  his  man- 
uscript in  his  hand. 

His  face  was  deadly  pale.  Either  there  was 
some  suggestion  of  his  fate  in  the  faces  of  his 
audience,  or  some  mysterious  instinct  told  him  of 
his  danger.  He  attempted  to  speak,  but  faltered, 
tottered,  and  staggered  to  the  wings. 

Fearful  of  losing  his  prey,  "  Boston  "  gave  the 
signal  and  leaped  upon  the  stage.  But  at  the 
same  moment  a  light  figure  darted  from  behind 
the  scenes,  and  delivering  a  kick  that  sent  the  dis- 


166        THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT. 

comfited  humorist  back  among  the  musicians,  cut 
a  pigeon-wing,  executed  a  double-shuffle,  and  then 
advancing  to  the  foot-lights  with  that  inimitable 
look,  that  audacious  swagger  and  utter  abandon 
which  had  so  thrilled  and  fascinated  them  a  mo- 
ment before,  uttered  the  characteristic  speech: 
"  Wot  are  you  goin'  to  hit  a  man  fur,  when  he  's 
down,  s-a-a-y  ? " 

The  look,  the  drawl,  the  action,  the  readiness, 
and  above  all  the  downright  courage  of  the  little 
woman,  had  its  effect.  A  roar  of  sympathetic  ap- 
plause followed  the  act.  "  Cut  and  run  while  you 
can,"  she  whispered  hurriedly  over  her  one  shoul- 
der, without  altering  the  other's  attitude  of  pert 
and  saucy  defiance  toward  the  audience.  But  even 
as  she  spoke  the  poet  tottered  and  sank  fainting 
upon  the  stage.  Then  she  threw  a  despairing 
whisper  behind  the  scenes,  "  King  down  the  cur- 
tain." 

There  was  a  slight  movement  of  opposition  in 
the  audience,  but  among  them  rose  the  burly  shoul- 
ders of  Yuba  Bill,  the  tall,  erect  figure  of  Henry 
York  of  Sandy  Bar,  and  the  colorless,  deter- 
mined face  of  John  Oakhurst.  The  curtain  came 
down. 

Behind  it  knelt  the  "  California  Pet "  beside  the 
prostrate  poet.  "  Bring  me  some  water.  Eun  for 
a  doctor.  Stop  ! !  CLEAR  OUT,  ALL  OF  YOU  ! " 

She  had  unloosed  the  gaudy  cravat  and  opened 


THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT.        167 

the  shirt-collar  of  the  insensible  figure  before  her. 
Then  she  burst  into  an  hysterical  laugh. 

"  Manuela ! " 

Her  tiring- woman,  a  Mexican  half-breed,  came 
toward  her. 

"  Help  me  with  him  to  my  dressing-room,  quick ; 
then  stand  outside  and  wait.  If  any  one  ques- 
tions you,  tell  them  he 's  gone.  Do  you  hear  ? 
HE  's  gone." 

The  old  woman  did  as  she  was  bade.  In  a  few 
moments  the  audience  had  departed.  Before  morn- 
ing so  also  had  the  "  California  Pet,"  Manuela,  and 
—  the  poet  of  Sierra  Flat. 

But,  alas  !  with  them  also  had  departed  the  fair 
fame  of  the  "  California  Pet."  Only  a  few,  and 
these  it  is  to  be  feared  of  not  the  best  moral  char- 
acter themselves,  still  had  faith  in  the  stainless 
honor  of  their  favorite  actress.  "  It  was  a  mighty 
foolish  thing  to  do,  but  it  11  all  come  out  right 
yet."  On  the  other  hand,  a  majority  gave  her 
full  credit  and  approbation  for  her  undoubted  pluck 
and  gallantry,  but  deplored  that  she  should  have 
thrown  it  away  upon  a  worthless  object.  To  elect 
for  a  lover  the  despised  and  ridiculed  vagrant  of 
Sierra  Flat,  who  had  not  even  the  manliness  to 
stand  up  in  his  own  defence,  was  not  only  evidence 
of  inherent  moral  depravity,  but  was  an  insult  to 
the  community.  Colonel  Starbottle  saw  in  it  only 
another  instance  of  the  extreme  frailty  of  the  sex ; 


168  THE   POET   OF   SIERRA   FLAT. 

he  had  known  similar  cases ;  and  remembered  dis- 
tinctly, sir,  how  a  well-known  Philadelphia  heiress, 
one  of  the  finest  women  that  ever  rode  in  her  ker- 
ridge,  that,  gad,  sir !  had  thrown  over  a  Southern 
member  of  Congress  to  consort  with  a  d — d  nigger. 
The  Colonel  had  also  noticed  a  singular  look  in  the 
dog's  eye  which  he  did  not  entirely  fancy.  He 
would  not  say  anything  against  the  lady,  sir,  but 
he  had  noticed —  And  here  haply  the  Colonel 
became  so  mysterious  and  darkly  confidential 
as  to  be  unintelligible  and  inaudible  to  the  by- 
standers. 

A  few  days  after  the  disappearance  of  Mr.  Chub- 
buck  a  singular  report  reached  Sierra  Flat,  and  it 
was  noticed  that  "  Boston,"  who  since  the  failure 
of  his  elaborate  joke  had  been  even  more  depressed 
in  spirits  than  is  habitual  with  great  humorists, 
suddenly  found  that  his  presence  was  required  in 
San  Francisco.  But  as  yet  nothing  but  the  vaguest 
surmises  were  afloat,  and  nothing  definite  was 
known. 

It  was  a  pleasant  afternoon  when  the  editor  of 
the  "  Sierra  Flat  Record  "  looked  up  from  his  case 
and  beheld  the  figure  of  Mr.  Morgan  McCorkle 
standing  in  the  doorway.  There  was  a  distressed 
look  on  the  face  of  that  worthy  gentleman  that  at 
once  enlisted  the  editor's  sympathizing  attention. 
He  held  an  open  letter  in  his  hand,  as  he  advanced 
toward  the  middle  of  the  room. 


THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT.  169 

"  As  a  man  as  has  allers  borne  a  fair  reputation," 
began  Mr.  McCorkle  slowly,  "  I  should  like,  if  so 
be  as  I  could,  Mister  Editor,  to  make  a  correction 
in  the  columns  of  your  valooable  paper." 

Mr.  Editor  begged  him  to  proceed. 

"  Ye  may  not  disremember  that  about  a  month 
ago  I  fetched  here  what  so  be  as  we  '11  call  a  young 
man  whose  name  might  be  as  it  were  Milton  — 
Milton  Chubbuck." 

Mr.  Editor  remembered  perfectly. 

"  Thet  same  party  I  'd  knowed  better  nor  fower 
year,  two  on  'em  campin'  out  together.  Not  that 
I  'd  known  him  all  the  time,  fur  he  war  shy  and 
strange  at  spells  and  had  odd  ways  that  I  took 
war  nat'ral  to  a  borned  poet.  Ye  may  remember 
that  I  said  he  was  a  borned  poet  ? " 

The  editor  distinctly  did. 

"  I  picked  this  same  party  up  in  St.  Jo.,  takin' 
a  fancy  to  his  face,  and  kinder  calklating  he  'd 
runn'd  away  from  home,  —  for  I  'm  a  married  man, 
Mr.  Editor,  and  hev  children  of  my  own,  —  and 
thinkin'  belike  he  was  a  borned  poet." 

"  Well  ? "  said  the  editor. 

"  And  as  I  said  before,  I  should  like  now  to 
make  a  correction  in  the  columns  of  your  valooa- 
ble paper." 

"  What  correction  ? "  asked  the  editor. 

"  I  said,  ef  you  remember  my  words,  as  how  he 
was  a  borned  poet." 


170       THE  POET  OF  SIERRA  FLAT. 

"Yes." 

"  From  statements  in  this  yer  letter  it  seems  as 
how  I  war  wrong." 
"Well?" 
"  She  war  a  woman." 


THE  CHEISTMAS  GIFT    THAT  CAME  TO 
KUPERT. 

A  STORY  FOR  LITTLE  SOLDIERS. 

IT  was  the  Christmas  season  in  California,  —  a 
season  of  falling  rain  and  springing  grasses. 
There  were  intervals  when,  through  driving  clouds 
and  flying  scud,  the  sun  visited  the  haggard  hills 
with  a  miracle,  and  death  and  resurrection  were 
as  one,  and  out  of  the  very  throes  of  decay  a  joy- 
ous life  struggled  outward  and  upward.  Even  the 
storms  that  swept  down  the  dead  leaves  nurtured 
the  tender  buds  that  took  their  places.  There 
were  no  episodes  of  snowy  silence  ;  over  the  quick- 
ening fields  the  farmer's  ploughshare  hard  followed 
the  furrows  left  by  the  latest  rains.  Perhaps  it 
was  for  this  reason  that  the  Christmas  evergreens 
which  decorated  the  drawing-room  took  upon 
themselves  a  foreign  aspect,  and  offered  a  weird 
contrast  to  the  roses,  seen  dimly  through  the  win- 
dows, as  the  southwest  wind  beat  their  soft  faces 
against  the  panes. 

"Now,"   said  the   Doctor,   drawing  his    chair 
closer  to  the  fire,  and  looking  mildly  but  firmly  at 


172   THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT. 

the  semicircle  of  flaxen  heads  around  him,  "I 
want  it  distinctly  understood  before  I  begin  my 
story,  that  I  am  not  to  be  interrupted  by  any  ridic- 
ulous questions.  At  the  first  one  I  shall  stop. 
At  the  second,  I  shall  feel  it  my  duty  to  adminis- 
ter a  dose  of  castor-oil,  all  around.  The  boy  that 
moves  his  legs  or  arms  will  be  understood  to  invite 
amputation.  I  have  brought  my  instruments  with 
me,  and  never  allow  pleasure  to  interfere  with  my 
business.  Do  you  promise  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  six  small  voices,  simultaneously. 
The  volley  was,  however,  followed  by  half  a  dozen 
dropping  questions. 

"  Silence !  Bob,  put  your  feet  down,  and  stop 
rattling  that  sword.  Flora  shall  sit  by  my  side, 
like  a  little  lady,  and  be  an  example  to  the  rest. 
Fung  Tang  shall  stay,  too,  if  he  likes.  Now,  turn 
down  the  gas  a  little;  there,  that  will  do, — just 
enough  to  make  the  fire  look  brighter,  and  to  show 
off  the  Christmas  candles.  Silence,  everybody! 
The  boy  who  cracks  an  almond,  or  breathes  too 
loud  over  his  raisins,  will  be  put  out  of  the  room." 

There  was  a  profound  silence.  Bob  laid  his 
sword  tenderly  aside,  and  nursed  his  leg  thought- 
fully. Flora,  after  coquettishly  adjusting  the 
pocket  of  her  little  apron,  put  her  arm  upon  the 
Doctor's  shoulder,  and  permitted  herself  to  be 
drawn  beside  him.  Fung  Tang,  the  little  heathen 
page,  who  was  permitted,  on  this  rare  occasion,  to 


THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT.    173 

share  the  Christian  revels  in  the  drawing-room, 
surveyed  the  group  with  a  smile  that  was  at  once 
sweet  and  philosophical.  The  light  ticking  of  a 
French  clock  on  the  mantel,  supported  by  a  young 
shepherdess  of  bronze  complexion  and  great  sym- 
metry of  limb,  was  the  only  sound  that  disturbed 
the  Christmas-like  peace  of  the  apartment,  —  a 
peace  which  held  the  odors  of  evergreens,  new  toys, 
cedar-boxes,  glue,  and  varnish  in  an  harmonious 
combination  that  passed  all  understanding. 

"  About  four  years  ago  at  this  time,"  began  the 
Doctor,  "I  attended  a  course  of  lectures  in  a 
certain  city.  One  of  the  professors,  who  was  a 
sociable,  kindly  man,  —  though  somewhat  practical 
and  hard-headed,  —  invited  me  to  his  house  on 
Christmas  night.  I  was  very  glad  to  go,  as  I  was 
anxious  to  see  one  of  his  sons,  who,  though  only 
twelve  years  old,  was  said  to  be  very  clever.  I 
dare  not  tell  you  how  many  Latin  verses  this  little 
fellow  could  recite,  or  how  many  English  ones  he 
had  composed.  In  the  first  place,  you  'd  want  me 
to  repeat  them;  secondly,  I'm  not  a  judge  of 
poetry,  Latin  or  English.  But  there  were  judges 
who  said  they  were  wonderful  for  a  boy,  and 
everybody  predicted  a  splendid  future  for  him. 
Everybody  but  his  father.  He  shook  his  head 
doubtingly,  whenever  it  was  mentioned,  for>  as  I 
frave  told  you,  he  was  a  practical,  matter-of-fact 
man. 


174    THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT. 

"  There  was  a  pleasant  party  at  the  Professor's 
that  night.  All  the  children  of  the  neighborhood 
were  there,  and  among  them  the  Professor's  clever 
son,  Eupert,  as  they  called  him,  —  a  thin  little 
chap,  about  as  tall  as  Bobby  there,  and  as  fair  and 
delicate  as  Flora  by  my  side.  His  health  was 
feeble,  his  father  said ;  he  seldom  ran  about  and 
played  with  other  boys,  preferring  to  stay  at 
home  and  brood  over  his  books,  and  compose  what 
he  called  his  verses. 

"  Well,  we  had  a  Christmas-tree  just  like  this, 
and  we  had  been  laughing  and  talking,  calling  off 
the  names  of  the  children  who  had  presents  on 
the  tree,  and  everybody  was  very  happy  and  joy- 
ous, when  one  of  the  children  suddenly  uttered  a 
cry  of  mingled  surprise  and  hilarity,  and  said, 
'  Here 's  something  for  Kupert ;  and  what  do  you 
think  it  is  ? ' 

" We  all  guessed.  '  A  desk ' ;  'A  copy  of  Mil- 
ton'; 'A  gold  pen';  'A  rhyming  dictionary/ 
'  No  ?  what  then  ? ' 

"'A  drum!' 

" '  A  what  ? '  asked  everybody. 

" '  A  drum !  with  Eupert's  name  on  it.' 

"Sure  enough  there  it  was.  A  good-sized, 
bright,  new,  brass-bound  drum,  with  a  slip  of  pa- 
per on  it,  with  the  inscription,  '  FOR  EUPERT.' 

"Of  course  we  all  laughed,  and  thought  it  a 
good  joke.  '  You  see  you  're  to  p-flke  a  noise  in 


THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT.    175 

the  world,  Rupert!'  said  one.  'Here's  parch- 
ment for  the  poet/  said  another.  'Rupert's  last 
work  in  sheepskin  covers/  said  a  third.  '  Give  us 
a  classical  tune,  Rupert/  said  a  fourth ;  and  so  on. 
But  Rupert  seemed  too  mortified  to  speak;  he 
changed  color,  bit  his  lips,  and  finally  burst  into  a 
passionate  fit  of  crying,  and  left  the  room.  Then 
those  who  had  joked  him  felt  ashamed,  and  every- 
body began  to  ask  who  had  put  the  drum  there. 
But  no  one  knew,  or  if  they  did,  the  unexpected 
sympathy  awakened  for  the  sensitive  boy  kept 
them  silent.  Even  the  servants  were  called  up 
and  questioned,  but  no  one  could  give  any  idea 
where  it  came  from.  And,  what  was  still  more 
singular,  everybody  declared  that  up  to  the  mo- 
ment it  was  produced,  no  one  had  seen  it  hanging 
on  the  tree.  What  do  I  think?  Well,  I  have 
my  own  opinion.  But  no  questions !  Enough 
for  you  to  know  that  Rupert  did  not  come  down 
etairs  again  that  night,  and  the  party  soon  after 
broke  up. 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  those  things,  for  the 
war  of  the  Rebellion  broke  out  the  next  spring, 
and  I  was  appointed  surgeon  in  one  of  the  new 
regiments,  and  was  on  my  way  to  the  seat  of  war. 
But  I  had  to  pass  through  the  city  where  the  Pro- 
fessor lived,  and  there  I  met  him.  My  first  ques- 
tion was  about  Rupert.  The  Professor  shook  his 
bead  sadly.  '  He 's  not  so  well,'  he  said ;  '  he  has 


176    THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT. 

been  declining  since  last  Christmas,  when  you  saw 
him.  A  very  strange  case/  he  added,  giving  it  a 
long  Latin  name,  — '  a  very  singular  case.  But  go 
and  see  him  yourself/  he  urged ;  '  it  may  distract 
his  mind  and  do  him  good.' 

"I  went  accordingly  to  the  Professor's  house, 
and  found  Eupert  lying  on  a  sofa,  propped  up  with 
pillows.  Around  him  were  scattered  his  books, 
and,  what  seemed  in  singular  contrast,  that  drum 
I  told  you  about  was  hanging  on  a  nail,  just  above 
his  head.  His  face  was  thin  and  wasted;  there 
was  a  red  spot  on  either  cheek,  and  his  eyes  were 
very  bright  and  widely  opened.  He  was  glad  to 
see  me,  and  when  I  told  him  where  I  was  going, 
he  asked  a  thousand  questions  about  the  war.  I 
thought  I  had  thoroughly  diverted  his  mind  from 
its  sick  and  languid  fancies,  when  he  suddenly 
grasped  my  hand  and  drew  me  toward  him. 

" '  Doctor/  said  he,  in  a  low  whisper,  '  you  won't 
laugh  at  me  if  I  tell  you  something  ? ' 

" '  No,  certainly  not/  I  said. 

" '  You  remember  that  drum  ? '  he  said,  pointing 
to  the  glittering  toy  that  hung  against  the  wall. 
'  You  know,  too,  how  it  came  to  me.  A  few  weeks 
after  Christmas,  I  was  lying  half  asleep  here,  and 
the  drum  was  hanging  on  the  wall,  when  suddenly 
I  heard  it  beaten ;  at  first,  low  and  slowly,  then 
faster  and  louder,  until  its  rolling  filled  the  house. 
In  the  middle  of  the  night,  I  heard  it  again.  I 


THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT.    177 

did  not  dare  to  tell  anybody  about  it,  but  I  have 
heard  it  every  night  ever  since.' 

"  He  paused  and  looked  anxiously  in  my  face, 
Sometimes/  he  continued,  'it  is  played  softly, 
sometimes  loudly,  but  always  quickening  to  a 
long-roll,  so  loud  and  alarming  that  I  have  looked 
to  see  people  coming  into  my  room  to  ask  what 
was  the  matter.  But  I  think,  Doctor,  —  I  think/ 
he  repeated  slowly,  looking  up  with  painful  inter- 
est into  my  face,  '  that  no  one  hears  it  but  myself/ 

"  I  thought  so,  too,  but  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
heard  it  at  any  other  time. 

" '  Once  or  twice  in  the  daytime/  he  replied, 
*  when  I  have  been  reading  or  writing  ;  then  very 
loudly,  as  though  it  were  angry,  and  tried  in  that 
way  to  attract  my  attention  away  from  my  books.' 

"I  looked  into  his  face,  and  placed  my  hand 
upon  his  pulse.  His  eyes  were  very  bright,  and 
his  pulse  a  little  flurried  and  quick,  I  then  tried 
to  explain  to  him  that  he  was  very  weak,  and  that 
his  senses  were  very  acute,  as  most  weak  people's 
are  ;  and  how  that  when  he  read,  or  grew  interested 
and  excited,  or  when  he  was  tired  at  night,  the 
throbbing  of  a  big  artery  made  the  beating  sound 
he  heard.  He  listened  to  me  with  a  sad  smile  of 
unbelief,  but  thanked  me,  and  in  a  little  while  I 
went  away.  But  as  I  was  going  down  stairs,  I 
met  the  Professor.  I  gave  him  my  opinion  of  the 
case,  —  well,  no  matter  what  it  was. 


178    THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT. 

" '  He  wants  fresh  air  and  exercise/  said  the  Pro- 
fessor, '  and  some  practical  experience  of  life,  sir.' 
The  Professor  was  not  a  bad  man,  but  he  was  a 
little  worried  and  impatient,  and  thought  —  as 
clever  people  are  apt  to  think  —  that  things  which 
he  did  n't  understand  were  either  silly  or  improper. 

"  I  left  the  city  that  very  day,  and  in  the  excite- 
ment of  battle-fields  and  hospitals,  I  forgot  all 
about  little  Eupert,  nor  did  I  hear  of  him  again, 
until  one  day,  meeting  an  old  classmate  in  the 
army,  who  had  known  the  Professor,  he  told  me 
that  Rupert  had  become  quite  insane,  and  that  in 
one  of  his  paroxysms  he  had  escaped  from  the 
house,  and  as  he  had  never  been  found,  it  was 
feared  that  he  had  fallen  in  the  river  and  was 
drowned.  I  was  terribly  shocked  for  the  moment, 
as  you  may  imagine ;  but,  dear  me,  I  was  living 
just  then  among  scenes  as  terrible  and  shocking, 
and  I  had  little  time  to  spare  to  mourn  over  poor 
Rupert. 

"  It  was  not  long  after  receiving  this  intelligence 
that  we  had  a  terrible  battle,  in  which  a  portion 
of  our  army  was  surprised  and  driven  back  with 
great  slaughter.  I  was  detached  from  my  brigade 
to  ride  over  to  the  battle-field  and  assist  the  sur- 
geons of  the  beaten  division,  who  had  more  on 
their  hands  than  they  could  attend  to.  When 
I  reached  the  barn  that  served  for  a  temporary 
hospital,  I  went  at  once  to  work  Ah,  Bob,"  said 


THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT.    179 

the  Doctor,  thoughtfully  taking  the  bright  sword 
from  the  hands  of  the  half-frightened  Bob,  and 
holding  it  gravely  before  him,  "these  pretty  play- 
things are  symbols  of  cruel,  ugly  realities.  . 

"  I  turned  to  a  tall,  stout  Vermonter,"  he  con- 
tinued very  slowly,  tracing  a  pattern  on  the  rug 
with  the  point  of  the  scabbard,  "who  was  badly 
wounded  in  both  thighs,  but  he  held  up  his  hands 
and  begged  me  to  help  others  first  who  needed  it 
more  than  he.  I  did  not  at  first  heed  his  request, 
for  this  kind  of  unselfishness  was  very  common  in 
the  army ;  but  he  went  on,  '  For  God's  sake,  Doc- 
tor, leave  me  here ;  there  is  a  drummer-boy  of  our 
regiment  —  a  mere  child  —  dying,  if  he  is  n't  dead 
now.  Go,  and  see  him  first.  He  lies  over  there. 
He  saved  more  than  one  life.  He  was  at  his  post 
in  the  panic  this  morning,  and  saved  the  honor  of 
the  regiment.'  I  was  so  much  more  impressed  by 
the  man's  manner  than  by  the  substance  of  his 
speech,  which  was,  however,  corroborated  by  the 
other  poor  fellows  stretched  around  me,  that  I 
passed  over  to  where  the  drummer  lay,  with  his 
drum  beside  him.  I  gave  one  glance  at  his  face 
—and  —  yes,  Bob  —  yes,  my  children  —  it  was 
Eupert. 

"Well!  well!  it  needed  not  the  chalked  cross 
which  my  brother-surgeons  had  left  upon  the  rough 
board  whereon  he  lay  to  show  how  urgent  was  the 
relief  he  sought ;  it  needed  not  the  prophetic  words 


180   THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT. 

of  the  Vennonter,  nor  the  damp  that  mingled  with 
the  brown  curls  that  clung  to  his  pale  forehead,  to 
show  how  hopeless  it  was  now.  I  called  him  by 
name.  He  opened  his  eyes  —  larger,  I  thought,  in 
the  new  vision  that  was  beginning  to  dawn  upon 
him — and  recognized  me.  He  whispered,  'I'm 
glad  you  are  come,  but  I  don't  think  you  can  do 
me  any  good.' 

"  I  could  not  tell  him  a  lie.  I  could  not  say 
anything.  I  only  pressed  his  hand  in  mine,  as  he 
went  on. 

" '  But  you  will  see  father,  and  ask  him  to  for- 
give me.  Nobody  is  to  blame  but  myself.  It  was 
a  long  time  before  I  understood  why  the  drum 
came  to  me  that  Christmas  night,  and  why  it  kept 
calling  to  me  every  night,  and  what  it  said.  I 
know  it  now.  The  work  is  done,  and  I  am  content. 
Tell  father  it  is  better  as  it  is.  I  should  have 
lived  only  to  worry  and  perplex  him,  and  some- 
thing in  me  tells  me  this  is  right.' 

"  He  lay  still  for  a  moment,  and  then,  grasping 
my  hand,  said,  — 

"'Hark!' 

"I  listened,  but  heard  nothing  but  the  sup- 
pressed moans  of  the  wounded  men  around  me. 
'  The  drum,'  he  said  faintly ;  '  don't  you  hear  it  ? 
The  drum  is  calling  me.' 

"He  reached  out  his  arm  to  where  it  lay,  as 
though  he  would  embrace  it. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  THAT  CAME  TO  RUPERT.    181 

" '  Listen/  he  went  on, '  it 's  the  reveille.  There 
are  the  ranks  drawn  up  in  review.  Don't  you  see 
the  sunlight  flash  down  the  long  line  of  bayonets  ? 
Their  faces  are  shining,  —  they  present  arms,  — 
there  comes  the  General;  but  his  face  I  cannot 
look  at,  for  the  glory  round  his  head.  He  sees  me ; 
he  smiles,  it  is  — '  And  with  a  name  upon  his  lips 
that  he  had  learned  long  ago,  he  stretched  himself 
wearily  upon  the  planks,  and  lay  quite  still 

"That's  all  No  questions  now;  never  mind 
what  became  of  the  drum.  Who 's  that  snivelling  ? 
Bless  my  soul,  where 's  my  pill-box  ? " 


URBAN   SKETCHES. 


A  VENERABLE  IMPOSTOR. 

AS  I  glance  across  my  table,  I  am  somewhat 
distracted  by  the  spectacle  of  a  venerable 
head  whose  crown  occasionally  appears  beyond,  at 
about  its  level.  The  apparition  of  a  very  small 
hand — whose  fingers  are  bunchy  and  have  the 
appearance  of  being  slightly  webbed  —  which  is 
frequently  lifted  above  the  table  in  a  vain  and 
impotent  attempt  to  reach  the  inkstand,  always 
affects  me  as  a  novelty  at  each  recurrence  of  the 
phenomenon.  Yet  both  the  venerable  head  and 
bunchy  fingers  belong  to  an  individual  with  whom 
I  am  familiar,  and  to  whom,  for  certain  reasons 
hereafter  described,  I  choose  to  apply  the  epithet 
written  above  this  article. 

His  advent  in  the  family  was  attended  with 
peculiar  circumstances.  He  was  received  with 
some  concern  —  the  number  of  retainers  having 
been  increased  by  one  in  honor  of  his  arrival 
He  appeared  to  be  weary,  —  his  pretence  was  that 
he  had  come  from  a  long  journey,  —  so  that  for 
days,  weeks,  and  even  months,  he  did  not  leave 
his  bed  except  when  he  was  carried.  But  it  was 
remarkable  that  his  appetite  was  invariably  regu- 


186  A  VENERABLE  IMPOSTOR. 

lar  and  healthy,  and  that  his  meals,  which  he 
required  should  be  brought  to  him,  were  seldom 
rejected.  During  this  time  he  had  little  conver- 
sation with  the  family,  his  knowledge  of  Our  ver- 
nacular being  limited,  but  occasionally  spoke  to 
himself  in  his  own  language,  —  a  foreign  tongue. 
The  difficulties  attending  this  eccentricity  were 
obviated  by  the  young  woman  who  had  from  the 
first  taken  him  under  her  protection,  —  being,  like 
the  rest  of  her  sex,  peculiarly  open  to  impositions, 
—  and  who  at  once  disorganized  her  own  tongue 
to  suit  his.  This  was  affected  by  the  contraction 
of  the  syllables  of  some  words,  the  addition  of 
syllables  to  others,  and  an  ingenious  disregard 
for  tenses  and  the  governing  powers  of  the  verb. 
The  same  singular  law  which  impels  people  in 
conversation  with  foreigners  to  imitate  their 
broken  English  governed  the  family  in  their 
communications  with  him.  He  received  these 
evidences  of  his  power  with  an  indifference  not 
wholly  free  from  scorn.  The  expression  of  his  eye 
would  occasionally  denote  that  his  higher  nature 
revolted  from  them.  I  have  no  doubt  myself  that 
his  wants  were  frequently  misinterpreted ;  that  the 
stretching  forth  of  his  hands  toward  the  moon  and 
stars  might  have  been  the  performance  of  some  re- 
ligious rite  peculiar  to  his  own  country,  which  was 
in  ours  misconstrued  into  a  desire  for  physical 
nourishment.  His  repetition  of  the  word  "goo- 


A  VENERABLE  IMPOSTOR.  187 

goo,"  —  which  was  subject  to  a  variety  of  opposite 
interpretations,  —  when  taken  in  conjunction  with 
his  size,  in  my  mind  seemed  to  indicate  his  abo- 
riginal or  Aztec  origin. 

I  incline  to  this  belief,  as  it  sustains  the  impres- 
sion I  have  already  hinted  at,  that  his  extreme 
youth  is  a  simulation  and  deceit ;  that  he  is  really 
older  and  has  lived  before  at  some  remote  period, 
and  that  his  conduct  fully  justifies  his  title  as  A 
Venerable  Impostor.  A  variety  of  circumstances 
corroborate  this  impression:  His  tottering  walk, 
which  is  a  senile  as  well  as  a  juvenile  condition ; 
his  venerable  head,  thatched  with  such  impercep- 
tible hair  that,  at  a  distance,  it  looks  like  a  mild 
aureola,  and  his  imperfect  dental  exhibition.  But 
beside  these  physical  peculiarities  may  be  observed 
certain  moral  symptoms,  which  go  to  disprove  his 
assumed  youth.  He  is  in  the  habit  of  falling  into 
reveries,  caused,  I  have  no  doubt,  by  some  circum- 
stance which  suggests  a  comparison  with  his  ex- 
perience in  his  remoter  boyhood,  or  by  some  serious 
retrospection  of  the  past  years.  He  has  been  de- 
tected lying  awake,  at  times  when  he  should  have 
been  asleep,  engaged  in  curiously  comparing  the 
bed-clothes,  walls,  and  furniture  with  some  recol- 
lection of  his  youth.  At  such  moments  he  has 
been  heard  to  sing  softly  to  himself  fragments  of 
some  unintelligible  composition,  which  probably 
still  linger  in  his  memory  as  the  echoes  of  a  music 


188         A  VENERABLE  IMPOSTOR. 

he  has  long  outgrown.  He  has  the  habit  of  receiv- 
ing strangers  with  the  familiarity  of  one  who  had 
met  them  before,  and  to  whom  their  antecedents 
and  peculiarities  were  matters  of  old  acquaintance, 
and  so  unerring  is  his  judgment  of  their  previous 
character  that  when  he  withholds  his  confidence  I 
am  apt  to  withhold  mine.  It  is  somewhat  remark- 
able that  while  the  maturity  of  his  years  and  the 
respect  due  to  them  is  denied  by  man,  his  superi- 
ority and  venerable  age  is  never  questioned  by  the 
brute  creation.  The  dog  treats  him  with  a  respect 
and  consideration  accorded  to  none  others,  and  the 
cat  permits  a  familiarity  which  I  should  shudder 
to  attempt.  It  may  be  considered  an  evidence  of 
some  Pantheistic  quality  in  his  previous  education, 
that  he  seems  to  recognize  a  fellowship  even  in  in- 
articulate objects ;  he  has  been  known  to  verbally 
address  plants,  flowers,  and  fruit,  and  to  extend  his 
confidence  to  such  inanimate  objects  as  chairs  and 
tables.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that,  in  the  re- 
mote period  of  his  youth,  these  objects  were  en- 
dowed with  not  only  sentient  natures,  but  moral 
capabilities,  and  he  is  still  in  the  habit  of  beat- 
ing them  when  they  collide  with  him,  and  of 
pardoning  them  with  a  kiss. 

As  he  has  grown  older  —  rather  let  me  say,  as 
we  have  approximated  to  his  years  —  he  has,  in 
spite  of  the  apparent  paradox,  lost  much  of  his 
senile  gravity.  It  must  be  confessed  that  some  of 


A  VENERABLE  IMPOSTOR.        189 

fds  actions  of  late  appear  to  our  imperfect  com- 
prehension inconsistent  with  his  extreme  age.  A 
habit  of  marching  up  and  down  with  a  string  tied 
to  a  soda-water  bottle,  a  disposition  to  ride  any- 
thing that  could  by  any  exercise  of  the  liveliest 
fancy  be  made  to  assume  equine  proportions,  a 
propensity  to  blacken  his  venerable  white  hair 
with  ink  and  coal  dust,  and  an  omnivorous  appetite 
which  did  not  stop  at  chalk,  clay,  or  cinders,  were 
peculiarities  not  calculated  to  excite  respect.  In 
fact,  he  would  seem  to  have  become  demoralized, 
and  when,  after  a  prolonged  absence  the  other  day, 
he  was  finally  discovered  standing  upon  the  front 
steps  addressing  a  group  of  delighted  children  out 
of  his  limited  vocabulary,  the  circumstance  could 
only  be  accounted  for  as  the  garrulity  of  age. 

But  I  lay  aside  my  pen  amidst  an  ominous  si- 
lence and  the  disappearance  of  the  venerable  head 
from  my  plane  of  vision.  As  I  step  to  the  other 
side  of  the  table,  I  find  that  sleep  has  overtaken 
him  in  an  overt  act  of  hoary  wickedness.  The 
very  pages  I  have  devoted  to  an  exposition  of  his 
deceit  he  has  quietly  abstracted,  and  I  find  them 
covered  with  cabalistic  figures  and  wild-looking 
hieroglyphs  traced  with  his  forefinger  dipped  in 
ink,  which  doubtless  in  his  own  language  conveys 
a  scathing  commentary  on  my  composition.  But 
he  sleeps  peacefully,  and  there  is  something  in  his 
face  which  tells  me  that  he  has  already  wandered 


190  A  VENERABLE  IMPOSTOB. 

away  to  that  dim  region  of  his  youth  where  I  can- 
not follow  him.  And  as  there  comes  a  strange 
stirring  at  my  heart  when  I  contemplate  the  im- 
measurable gulf  which  lies  between  us,  and  how 
slight  and  feeble  as  yet  is  his  grasp  on  this  world 
and  its  strange  realities,  I  find,  too  late,  that  I  also 
am  a  willing  victim  of  the  Venerable  Impostor. 


FKOM  A  BALCONY. 

THE  little  stone  balcony,  which,  by  a  popular 
fallacy,  is  supposed  to  be  a  necessary  appur- 
tenance of  my  window,  has  long  been  to  me  a 
source  of  curious  interest.  The  fact  that  the  as- 
perities of  our  summer  weather  will  not  permit 
me  to  use  it  but  once  or  twice  in  six  months  does 
not  alter  my  concern  for  this  incongruous  orna- 
ment. It  affects  me  as  I  suppose  the  conscious 
possession  of  a  linen  coat  or  a  nankeen  trousers 
might  affect  a  sojourner  here  who  has  not  entirely 
outgrown  his  memory  of  Eastern  summer  heat  and 
its  glorious  compensations, —  a  luxurious  providence 
against  a  possible  but  by  no  means  probable  con- 
tingency. I  do  no  longer  wonder  at  the  persistency 
with  which  San  Franciscans  adhere  to  this  archi- 
tectural superfluity  in  the  face  of  climatical  im- 
possibilities. The  balconies  in  which  no  one  sits, 
the  piazzas  on  which  no  one  lounges,  are  timid  ad- 
vances made  to  a  climate  whose  churlishness  we 
are  trying  to  temper  by  an  ostentation  of  confi- 
dence. Eidiculous  as  this  spectacle  is  at  all  sea- 
sons, it  is  never  more  so  than  in  that  bleak  inter- 
val between  sunset  and  dark,  when  the  shrill  scream 


192  FROM  A  BALCONY. 

of  the  factory  whistle  seems  to  have  concentrated 
all  the  hard,  unsympathetic  quality  of  the  climate 
into  one  vocal  expression.  Add  to  this  the  appear- 
ance of  one  or  two  pedestrians,  manifestly  too  late 
for  their  dinners,  and  tasting  in  the  shrewish  air  a 
bitter  premonition  of  the  welcome  that  awaits  them 
at  home,  and  you  have  one  of  those  ordinary  views 
from  my  balcony  which  makes  the  balcony  itself 
ridiculous. 

But  as  I  lean  over  its  balustrade  to-night  —  a 
night  rare  in  its  kindness  and  beauty  —  and  watch 
the  fiery  ashes  of  my  cigar  drop  into  the  abysmal 
darkness  below,  I  am  inclined  to  take  back  the 
whole  of  that  preceding  paragraph,  although  it 
cost  me  some  labor  to  elaborate  its  polite  malevo- 
lence. I  can  even  recognize  some  melody  in  the 
music  which  comes  irregularly  and  fitfully  from 
the  balcony  of  the  Museum  on  Market  Street,  al- 
though it  may  be  broadly  stated  that,  as  a  general 
thing,  the  music  of  all  museums,  menageries,  and 
circuses  becomes  greatly  demoralized,  —  possibly 
through  associations  with  the  beasts.  So  soft  and 
courteous  is  this  atmosphere  that  I  have  detected 
the  flutter  of  one  or  two  light  dresses  on  the  adja- 
cent balconies  and  piazzas,  and  the  front  parlor 
windows  of  a  certain  aristocratic  mansion  in  the 
vicinity,  which  have  always  maintained  a  studious 
reserve  in  regard  to  the  interior,  to-night  are  sud- 
denlv  thrown  into  the  attitude  of  familiar  dis- 


FROM  A  BALCONY.  193 

closure.  A  few  young  people  are  strolling  up  the 
street  with  a  lounging  step  which  is  quite  a  relief 
to  that  usual  brisk,  business-like  pace  which  the 
chilly  nights  impose  upon  even  the  most  senti- 
mental lovers.  The  genial  influences  of  the  air 
are  not  restricted  to  the  opening  of  shutters  and 
front  doors;  other  and  more  gentle  disclosures 
are  made,  no  doubt,  beneath  this  moonlight.  The 
bonnet  and  hat  which  passed  beneath  my  balcony 
ft  few  moments  ago  were  suspiciously  close  to- 
gether. I  argued  from  this  that  my  friend  the 
editor  will  probably  receive  any  quantity  of  verses 
for  his  next  issue,  containing  allusions  to  "  Luna," 
in  which  the  original  epithet  of  "  silver  "  will  be 
applied  to  this  planet,  and  that  a  "  boon  "  will  be 
asked  for  the  evident  purpose  of  rhyming  with 
"  moon,"  and  for  no  other.  Should  neither  of  the 
parties  be  equal  to  this  expression,  the  pent-up 
feelings  of  the  heart  will  probably  find  vent  later 
in  the  evening  over  the  piano,  in  "  I  wandered  by 
the  Brookside,"  or  "  When  the  Moon  on  the  Lake  is 
Beaming."  But  it  has  been  permitted  me  to  hear 
the  fulfilment  of  my  prophecy  even  as  it  was  ut- 
tered. From  the  window  of  number  Twelve  Hun- 
dred and  Seven  gushes  upon  the  slumberous  misty 
air  the  maddening  ballad,  "Ever  of  Thee,"  while 
at  Twelve  Hundred  and  Eleven  the  "  Star  of  the 
Evening  "  rises  with  a  chorus.  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  there  is  something  in  the  utter  vacuity 


194  FROM  A  BALCONY. 

of  the  refrain  in  this  song  which  especially  com- 
mends itself  to  the  young.  The  simple  statement, 
"  Star  of  the  evening,"  is  again  and  again  repeated 
with  an  imbecile  relish  ;  while  the  adjective  "  beau- 
tiful "  recurs  with  a  steady  persistency,  too  exasper- 
ating to  dwell  upon  here.  At  occasional  intervals, 
a  base  voice  enunciates  "  Star-r  !  Star-r  ! "  as  a 
solitary  and  independent  effort.  Sitting  here  in 
my  balcony,  I  picture  the  possessor  of  that  voice 
as  a  small,  stout  young  man,  standing  a  little  apart 
from  the  other  singers,  with  his  hands  behind  him, 
under  his  coat-tail,  and  a  severe  expression  of 
countenance.  He  sometimes  leans  forward,  with 
a  futile  attempt  to  read  the  music  over  somebody 
else's  shoulder,  but  always  resumes  his  old  severity 
of  attitude  before  singing  his  part.  Meanwhile 
the  celestial  subjects  of  this  choral  adoration  look 
down  upon  the  scene  with  a  tranquillity  and  pa- 
tience which  can  only  result  from  the  security  with 
which  their  immeasurable  remoteness  invests  them. 
I  would  remark  that  the  stars  are  not  the  only  topics 
subject  to  this  "damnable  iteration."  A  certain 
popular  song,  which  contains  the  statement,  "  I 
will  not  forget  you,  mother,"  apparently  reposes  all 
its  popularity  on  the  constant  and  dreary  repetition 
of  this  unimportant  information,  which  at  least 
produces  the  desired  result  among  the  audience. 
If  the  best  operatic  choruses  are  not  above  this 
weakness,  the  unfamiliar  language  in  which  they 
are  sung  offers  less  violation  to  common  sense. 


FROM   A  BALCONY.  195 

It  may  be  parenthetically  stated  here  that  the 
songs  alluded  to  above  may  be  found  in  sheet  music 
on  the  top  of  the  piano  of  any  young  lady  who 
has  just  come  from  boarding-school.  "The  Old 
Arm-Chair,"  or  "  Woodman,  spare  that  Tree,"  will 
be  also  found  in  easy  juxtaposition.  The  latter 
songs  are  usually  brought  into  service  at  the  in- 
stance of  an  uncle  or  bachelor  brother,  whose 
request  is  generally  prefaced  by  a  remark  depreca- 
tory of  the  opera,  and  the  gratuitous  observation 
that  "we  are  retrograding,  sir,  —  retrograding," 
and  that  "  there  is  no  music  like  the  old  songs." 
He  sometimes  condescends  to  accompany  "  Marie  " 
in  a  tremulous  barytone,  and  is  particularly  forci- 
ble in  those  passages  where  the  word  "  repeat "  is 
written,  for  reasons  stated  above.  When  the  song 
is  over,  to  the  success  of  which  he  feels  he  has 
materially  contributed,  he  will  inform  you  that 
you  may  talk  of  your  "  arias,"  and  your  "  roman- 
zas,"  "  but  for  music,  sir,  —  music  — "  at  which 
point  he  becomes  incoherent  and  unintelligible. 
It  is  this  gentleman  who  suggests  "  China,"  or 
"Brattle  Street,"  as  a  suitable  and  cheerful  exer- 
cise for  the  social  circle.  There  are  certain  ama- 
tory songs,  of  an  arch  and  coquettish  character, 
familiar  to  these  localities,  which  the  young  lady, 
"being  called  upon  to  sing,  declines  with  a  bashful 
and  tantalizing  hesitation.  Prominent  among  these 
may  be  mentioned  an  erotic  effusion  entitled  "  I  'm 


196  FROM  A  BALCONY. 

talking  in  my  Sleep,"  which,  when  sung  by  a 
young  person  vivaciously  and  with  appropriate 
glances,  can  be  made  to  drive  languishing  swains 
to  the  verge  of  madness.  Ballads  of  this  quality 
afford  splendid  opportunities  for  bold  young  men, 
who,  by  ejaculating  "Oh!"  and  "Ah!"  at  the 
affecting  passages,  frequently  gain  a  fascinating 
reputation  for  wildness  and  scepticism. 

But  the  music  which  called  up  these  paren- 
thetical reflections  has  died  away,  and  with  it  the 
slight  animosities  it  inspired.  The  last  song  has 
been  sung,  the  piano  closed,  the  lights  are  with- 
drawn from  the  windows,  and  the  white  skirts 
flutter  away  from  stoops  and  balconies.  The  si- 
lence is  broken  only  by  the  rattle  and  rumble  of 
carriages  coming  from  theatre  and  opera.  I  fancy 
that  this  sound  —  which,  seeming  to  be  more  dis- 
tinct at  this  hour  than  at  any  other  time,  might  be 
called  one  of  the  civic  voices  of  the  night  —  has 
certain  urbane  suggestions,  not  unpleasant  to  those 
born  and  bred  in  large  cities.  The  moon,  round 
and  full,  gradually  usurps  the  twinkling  lights  of 
the  city,  that  one  by  one  seem  to  fade  away  and 
be  absorbed  in  her  superior  lustre.  The  distant 
Mission  hills  are  outlined  against  the  sky,  but 
through  one  gap  the  outlying  fog  which  has  stealth- 
ily invested  us  seems  to  have  effected  a  breach, 
and  only  waits  the  co-operation  of  the  laggard  sea- 
breezes  to  sweep  down  and  take  the  beleaguered 


FROM   A  BALCONY.  197 

city  by  assault.  An  ineffable  calm  sinks  over  the 
landscape.  In  the  magical  moonlight  the  shot- 
tower  loses  its  angular  outline  and  practical  rela- 
tions, and  becomes  a  minaret  from  whose  balcony 
an  invisible  muezzin  calls  the  Faithful  to  prayer. 
"  Prayer  is  better  than  sleep."  But  what  is  this  ? 
A  shuffle  of  feet  on  the  pavement,  a  low  hum  of 
voices,  a  twang  of  some  diabolical  instrument,  a 
preliminary  hem  and  cough.  Heavens !  it  cannot 
be  !  Ah,  yes  —  it  is  —  it  is  —  SERENADERS  ! 

Anathema  Maranatha  !  May  purgatorial  pains 
seize  you,  William,  Count  of  Poitou,  Girard  de 
Boreuil,  Arnaud  de  Marveil,  Bertrand  de  Born,  mis- 
chievous progenitors  of  jongleurs,  troubadours,  pro- 
venqals,  minnesingers,  minstrels,  and  singers  of 
cansos  and  love  chants !  Confusion  overtake  and 
confound  your  modern  descendants,  the  "  metre 
ballad-mongers,"  who  carry  the  shamelessness  of 
the  Middle  Ages  into  the  nineteenth  century,  and 
awake  a  sleeping  neighborhood  to  the  brazen 
knowledge  of  their  loves  and  wanton  fancies ! 
Destruction  and  demoralization  pursue  these  piti- 
able imitators  of  a  barbarous  age,  when  ladies' 
names  and  charms  were  shouted  through  the  land, 
and  modest  maiden  never  lent  presence  to  tilt  or 
tourney  without  hearing  a  chronicle  of  her  virtues 
go  round  the  lists,  shouted  by  wheezy  heralds  and 
taken  up  by  roaring  swashbucklers!  Perdition 
overpower  such  ostentatious  wooers !  Marry !  shall 


198  FROM  A  BALCONY. 

I  shoot  the  amorous  feline  who  nightly  iterates 
his  love  songs  on  my  roof,  and  yet  withhold  my 
trigger  finger  from  yonder  pranksome  gallant  ? 
Go  to  !  Here  is  an  orange  left  of  last  week's  re- 
past. Decay  hath  overtaken  it,  —  it  possesseth  nei- 
ther savor  nor  cleanliness.  Ha  !  cleverly  thrown  ! 
A  hit  —  a  palpable  hit!  Peradventure  I  have 
still  a  boot  that  hath  done  me  service,  and,  barring 
a  looseness  of  the  heel,  an  ominous  yawning  at 
the  side,  't  is  in  good  case !  Na'theless,  't  will 
serve.  So !  so  1  What !  dispersed  !  Nay,  then,  I 
too  will  retire. 


MELONS. 

AS  I  do  not  suppose  the  most  gentle  of  readers 
will  believe  that  anybody's  sponsors  in  bap- 
tism ever  wilfully  assumed  the  responsibility  of 
such  a  name,  I  may  as  well  state  that  I  have  rea- 
son to  infer  that  Melons  was  simply  the  nickname 
of  a  small  boy  I  once  knew.  If  he  had  any  other, 
I  never  knew  it. 

Various  theories  were  often  projected  by  me  to 
account  for  this  strange  cognomen.  His  head, 
which  was  covered  with  a  transparent  down,  like 
that  which  clothes  very  small  chickens,  plainly 
permitting  the  scalp  to  show  through,  to  an  im- 
aginative mind  might  have  suggested  that  succu- 
lent vegetable.  That  his  parents,  recognizing  some 
poetical  significance  in  the  fruits  of  the  season, 
might  have  given  this  name  to  an  August  child,  was 
an  Oriental  explanation.  That  from  his  infancy, 
he  was  fond  of  indulging  in  melons,  seemed  on  the 
whole  the  most  likely,  particularly  as  Fancy  was  not 
bred  in  MeGinnis's  Court.  He  dawned  upon  me 
as  Melons.  His  proximity  was  indicated  by  shrill, 
youthful  voices,  as  "  Ah,  Melons  I  "  or  playfully, 
"  Hi,  Melons ! "  or  authoritatively, "  You,  Melons  1 " 


200  MELONS. 

McGinnis's  Court  was  a  democratic  expression 
of  some  obstinate  and  radical  property-holder. 
Occupying  a  limited  space  between  two  fashion- 
able thoroughfares,  it  refused  to  conform  to  cir- 
cumstances, but  sturdily  paraded  its  unkempt 
glories,  and  frequently  asserted  itself  in  ungram- 
matical  language.  My  window  —  a  rear  room  on 
the  ground  floor  —  in  this  way  derived  blended 
light  and  shadow  from  the  court.  So  low  was 
the  window-sill,  that  had  I  been  the  least  pre- 
disposed to  somnambulism,  it  would  have  broken 
out  under  such  favorable  auspices,  and  I  should 
have  haunted  McGinnis's  Court.  My  speculations 
as  to  the  origin  of  the  court  were  not  altogether 
gratuitous,  for  by  means  of  this  window  I  once 
saw  the  Past,  as  through  a  glass  darkly.  It  was  a 
Celtic  shadow  that  early  one  morning  obstructed 
my  ancient  lights.  It  seemed  to  belong  to  an  indi- 
vidual with  a  pea-coat,  a  stubby  pipe,  and  bristling 
beard.  He  was  gazing  intently  at  the  court,  rest- 
ing on  a  heavy  cane,  somewhat  in  the  way  that 
heroes  dramatically  visit  the  scenes  of  their  boy- 
hood. As  there  was  little  of  architectural  beauty 
in  the  court,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was 
McGinnis  looking  after  his  property.  The  fact 
that  he  carefully  kicked  a  broken  bottle  out  of  the 
road  somewhat  strengthened  me  in  the  opinion. 
But  he  presently  walked  away,  and  the  court  knew 
him  no  more.  He  probably  collected  his  rents  by 
proxy  —  if  he  collected  them  at  all 


MELONS.  201 

Beyond  Melons,  of  whom  all  this  is  purely  in- 
troductory, there  was  little  to  interest  the  most 
sanguine  and  hopeful  nature.  In  common  with 
all  such  localities,  a  great  deal  of  washing  was 
done,  in  comparison  with  the  visible  results.  There 
was  always  something  whisking  on  the  line,  and 
always  something  whisking  through  the  court,  that 
looked  as  if  it  ought  to  be  there.  A  fish-geranium 
—  of  all  plants  kept  for  the  recreation  of  mankind, 
certainly  the  greatest  illusion  —  straggled  under 
the  window.  Through  its  dusty  leaves  I  caught 
the  first  glance  of  Melons. 

His  age  was  about  seven.  He  looked  older, 
from  the  venerable  whiteness  of  his  head,  and  it 
was  impossible  to  conjecture  his  size,  as  he  always 
wore  clothes  apparently  belonging  to  some  shapely 
youth  of  nineteen.  A  pair  of  pantaloons,  that, 
when  sustained  by  a  single  suspender,  completely 
equipped  him,  formed  his  every-day  suit.  How, 
with  this  lavish  superfluity  of  clothing,  he  man- 
aged to  perform  the  surprising  gymnastic  feats  it 
has  been  my  privilege  to  witness,  I  have  never 
been  able  to  tell.  His  "turning  the  crab,"  and 
other  minor  dislocations,  were  always  attended 
with  success.  It  was  not  an  unusual  sight  at  any 
hour  of  the  day  to  find  Melons  suspended  on  a 
line,  or  to  see  his  venerable  head  appearing  above 
the  roofs  of  the  outhouses.  Melons  knew  the 
exact  height  of  every  fence  in  the  vicinity,  its 

9* 


202  MELONS. 

facilities  for  scaling,  and  the  possibility  of  seizure 
on  the  other  side.  His  more  peaceful  and  quieter 
amusements  consisted  in  dragging  a  disused  boiler 
by  a  large  string,  with  hideous  outcries,  to  imagi- 
nary fires. 

Melons  was  not  gregarious  in  his  habits.  A  few 
youth  of  his  own  age  sometimes  called  upon  him, 
but  they  eventually  became  abusive,  and  their 
visits  were  more  strictly  predatory  incursions  for 
old  bottles  and  junk  which  formed  the  staple  of 
McGinnis's  Court.  Overcome  by  loneliness  one 
day,  Melons  inveigled  a  blind  harper  into  the 
court.  For  two  hours  did  that  wretched  man 
prosecute  his  unhallowed  calling,  unrecompensed, 
and  going  round  and  round  the  court,  apparently 
under  the  impression  that  it  was  some  other  place, 
while  Melons  surveyed  him  from  an  adjoining 
fence  with  calm  satisfaction.  It  was  this  absence 
of  conscientious  motives  that  brought  Melons  into 
disrepute  with  his  aristocratic  neighbors.  Orders 
were  issued  that  no  child  of  wealthy  and  pious 
parentage  should  play  with  him.  This  mandate, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  invested  Melons  with  a  fas- 
cinating interest  to  them.  Admiring  glances  were 
cast  at  Melons  from  nursery  windows.  Baby  fin- 
gers beckoned  to  him.  Invitations  to  tea  (on  wood 
and  pewter)  were  lisped  to  him  from  aristocratic 
back-yards.  It  was  evident  he  was  looked  upon 
as  a  pure  and  noble  being,  untrammelled  by  the 


MELONS.  203 

conventionalities  of  parentage,  and  physically  as 
well  as  mentally  exalted  above  them.  One  after- 
noon an  unusual  commotion  prevailed  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  McGinnis's  Court.  Looking  from  my  win- 
dow I  saw  Melons  perched  on  the  roof  of  a  stable, 
pulling  up  a  rope  by  which  one  "Tommy,"  an 
infant  scion  of  an  adjacent  and  wealthy  house, 
was  suspended  in  mid-air.  In  vain  the  female 
relatives  of  Tommy  congregated  in  the  back-yard, 
expostulated  with  Melons ;  in  vain  the  unhappy 
father  shook  his  fist  at  him.  Secure  in  his  posi- 
tion, Melons  redoubled  his  exertions  and  at  last 
landed  Tommy  on  the  roof.  Then  it  was  that  the 
humiliating  fact  was  disclosed  that  Tommy  had 
been  acting  in  collusion  with  Melons.  He  grinned 
delightedly  back  at  his  parents,  as  if  "  by  merit 
raised  to  that  bad  eminence."  Long  before  the 
ladder  arrived  that  was  to  succor  him,  he  became 
the  sworn  ally  of  Melons,  and,  I  regret  to  say,  in- 
cited by  the  same  audacious  boy,  "  chaffed  "  his 
own  flesh  and  blood  below  him.  He  was  event- 
ually taken,  though,  of  course,  Melons  escaped. 
But  Tommy  was  restricted  to  the  window  after 
that,  and  the  companionship  was  limited  to  "  Hi, 
Melons  !  "  and  "  You,  Tommy  !  "  and  Melons,  to 
all  practical  purposes,  lost  him  forever.  I  looked 
afterward  to  see  some  signs  of  sorrow  on  Melons's 
part,  but  in  vain ;  he  buried  his  grief,  if  he  had 
any,  somewhere  in  his  one  voluminous  garment. 


204  MELONS. 

At  about  this  time  my  opportunities  of  knowing 
Melons  became  more  extended.  I  was  engaged  in 
filling  a  void  in  the  Literature  of  the  Pacific  Coast. 
As  this  void  was  a  pretty  large  one,  and  as  I  was 
informed  that  the  Pacific  Coast  languished  under 
it,  I  set  apart  two  hours  each  day  to  this  work  of 
filling  in.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should  adopt  a 
methodical  system,  so  I  retired  from  the  world  and 
locked  myself  in  my  room  at  a  certain  hour  each 
day,  after  coming  from  my  office.  I  then  carefully 
drew  out  my  portfolio  and  read  what  I  had  written 
the  day  before.  This  would  suggest  some  altera- 
tion, and  I  would  carefully  rewrite  it.  During 
this  operation  I  would  turn  to  consult  a  book  of 
reference,  which  invariably  proved  extremely  in- 
teresting and  attractive.  It  would  generally  sug- 
gest another  and  better  method  of  "filling  in." 
Turning  this  method  over  reflectively  in  my  mind, 
I  would  finally  commence  the  new  method  which 
I  eventually  abandoned  for  the  original  plan.  At 
this  time  I  would  become  convinced  that  my  ex- 
hausted faculties  demanded  a  cigar.  The  operation 
of  lighting  a  cigar  usually  suggested  that  a  little 
quiet  reflection  and  meditation  would  be  of  service 
to  me,  and  I  always  allowed  myself  to  be  guided 
by  prudential  instincts.  Eventually,  seated  by  my 
window,  as  before  stated,  Melons  asserted  himself, 
Though  our  conversation  rarely  went  further  than 
"  HeUo,  Mister ! "  and  "  Ah,  Melons ! "  a  vagabond 


MELONS.  205 

instinct  we  felt  in  common  implied  a  communion 
deeper  than  words.  In  this  spiritual  commingling 
the  time  passed,  often  beguiled  by  gymnastics  on 
the  fence  or  line  (always  with  an  eye  to  my  win- 
dow) until  dinner  was  announced  and  I  found  a 
more  practical  void  required  my  attention.  An  un- 
looked  for  incident  drew  us  in  closer  relation. 

A  sea-faring  friend  just  from  a  tropical  voyage 
had  presented  me  with  a  bunch  of  bananas.  They 
were  not  quite  ripe,  and  I  hung  them  before  my 
window  to  mature  in  the  sun  of  McGinnis's  Court, 
whose  forcing  qualities  were  remarkable.  In  the 
mysteriously  mingled  odors  of  ship  and  shore  which 
they  diffused  throughout  my  room,  there  was  a  lin- 
gering reminiscence  of  low  latitudes.  But  even 
that  joy  was  fleeting  and  evanescent :  they  never 
reached  maturity. 

Coming  home  one  day,  as  I  turned  the  corner  of 
that  fashionable  thoroughfare  before  alluded  to,  I 
met  a  small  boy  eating  a  banana.  There  was  noth- 
ing remarkable  in  that,  but  as  I  neared  McGinnis's 
Court  I  presently  met  another  small  boy,  also  eat- 
ing a  banana.  A  third  small  boy  engaged  in  a  like 
occupation  obtruded  a  painful  coincidence  upon  my 
mind.  I  leave  the  psychological  reader  to  deter- 
mine the  exact  co-relation  between  this  circum- 
stance and  the  sickening  sense  of  loss  that  over- 
came me  on  witnessing  it.  I  reached  my  room  — 
and  found  the  bunch  of  bananas  was  gone. 


206  MELONS. 

There  was  but  one  who  knew  of  their  existence, 
but  one  who  frequented  my  window,  but  one  capa- 
ble of  the  gymnastic  effort  to  procure  them,  and 
that  was  —  I  blush  to  say  it  —  Melons.  Melons 
the  depredator  —  Melons,  despoiled  by  larger  boys 
of  his  ill-gotten  booty,  or  reckless  and  indiscreet- 
ly liberal ;  Melons  —  now  a  fugitive  on  some  neigh- 
boring house-top.  I  lit  a  cigar,  and,  drawing  my 
chair  to  the  window,  sought  surcease  of  sorrow  in 
the  contemplation  of  the  fish-geranium.  In  a  few 
moments  something  white  passed  my  window  at 
about  the  level  of  the  edge.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking that  hoary  head,  which  now  represented  to 
me  only  aged  iniquity.  It  was  Melons,  that  ven- 
erable, juvenile  hypocrite. 

He  affected  not  to  observe  me,  and  would  have 
withdrawn  quietly,  but  that  horrible  fascination 
which  causes  the  murderer  to  revisit  the  scene  of 
his  crime,  impelled  him  toward  my  window.  I 
smoked  calmly  and  gazed  at  him  without  speaking. 
He  walked  several  times  up  and  down  the  court 
with  a  half-rigid,  half-belligerent  expression  of  eye 
and  shoulder,  intended  to  represent  the  carelessness 
of  innocence. 

Once  or  twice  he  stopped,  and  putting  his  arms 
their  whole  length  into  his  capacious  trousers, 
gazed  with  some  interest  at  the  additional  width 
they  thus  acquired.  Then  he  whistled.  The  sin^ 
gular  conflicting  conditions  of  John  Brown's  body 


MELONS.  207 

and  soul  were  at  that  time  beginning  to  attract  the 
attention  of  youth,  and  Melons's  performance  of 
that  melody  was  always  remarkable.  But  to-day 
he  whistled  falsely  and  shrilly  between  his  teeth. 
At  last  he  met  my  eye.  He  winced  slightly,  but 
recovered  himself,  and  going  to  the  fence,  stood  for 
a  few  moments  on  his  hands,  with  his  bare  feet 
quivering  in  the  air.  Then  he  turned  toward  me 
and  threw  out  a  conversational  preliminary. 

"  They  is  a  cirkis  "  —  said  Melons  gravely,  hang- 
ing with  his  back  to  the  fence  and  his  arms  twisted 
around  the  palings  —  "a  cirkis  over  yonder  ! "  — 
indicating  the  locality  with  his  foot  — "  with  bosses, 
and  hossback  riders.  They  is  a  man  wot  rides  six 
bosses  to  onct  —  six  bosses  to  onct — and  nary 
saddle" —  and  he  paused  in  expectation. 

Even  this  equestrian  novelty  did  not  affect  me. 
I  still  kept  a  fixed  gaze  on  Melons's  eye,  and  he 
began  to  tremble  and  visibly  shrink  in  his  capa- 
cious garment.  Some  other  desperate  means  — 
conversation  with  Melons  was  always  a  desper- 
ate means — must  be  resorted  to.  He  recom- 
menced more  artfully. 

"  Do  you  know  Carrots  ? " 

I  had  a  faint  remembrance  of  a  boy  of  that 
euphonious  name,  with  scarlet  hair,  who  was  a 
playmate  and  persecutor  of  Melons.  But  I  said 
nothing. 

"  Carrots  is  a  bad  boy.    Killed  a  policeman  onct. 


208  MELONS. 

Wears  a  dirk  knife  in  his  boots,  saw  him  to-day 
looking  in  your  windy." 

I  felt  that  this  must  end  here.  I  rose  sternly 
and  addressed  Melons. 

"  Melons,  this  is  all  irrelevant  and  impertinent 
to  the  case.  You  took  those  bananas.  Your  prop- 
osition regarding  Carrots,  even  if  I  were  inclined 
to  accept  it  as  credible  information,  does  not  alter 
the  material  issue.  You  took  those  bananas.  The 
offence  under  the  statutes  of  California  is  felony. 
How  far  Carrots  may  have  been  accessory  to  the 
fact  either  before  or  after,  is  not  my  intention  at 
present  to  discuss.  The  act  is  complete.  Your 
present  conduct  shows  the  animo  furandi  to  have 
been  equally  clear." 

By  the  time  I  had  finished  this  exordium,  Melons 
had  disappeared,  as  I  fully  expected. 

He  never  reappeared.  The  remorse  that  I  have 
experienced  for  the  part  I  had  taken  in  what  I  fear 
may  have  resulted  in  his  utter  and  complete  exter- 
mination, alas,  he  may  not  know,  except  through 
these  pages.  For  I  have  never  seen  him  since. 
Whether  he  ran  away  and  went  to  sea  to  reappear 
at  some  future  day  as  the  most  ancient  of  mariners, 
or  whether  he  buried  himself  completely  in  his 
trousers,  I  never  shall  know.  I  have  read  the 
papers  anxiously  for  accounts  of  him.  I  have 
gone  to  the  Police  Office  in  the  vain  attempt  of 
identifying  him  as  a  lost  child.  But  I  never  saw 


MELONS. 


209 


him  or  heard  of  him  since.  Strange  fears  have 
sometimes  crossed  my  mind  that  his  venerable 
appearance  may  have  been  actually  the  result  of 
senility,  and  that  he  may  have  been  gathered  peace- 
fully to  his  fathers  in  a  green  old  age.  I  have 
even  had  doubts  of  his  existence,  and  have  some- 
times thought  that  he  was  providentially  and  mys- 
teriously offered  to  fill  the  void  I  have  before 
alluded  to.  In  that  hope  I  have  written  these 
pages. 


SURPRISING  ADVENTURES    OF  MASTER 
CHARLES   SUMMERTON. 

AT  exactly  half  past  nine  o'clock  on  the  morn- 
ing of  Saturday,  August  26,  1865,  Master 
Charles  Summerton,  aged  five  years,  disappeared 
mysteriously  from  his  paternal  residence  on  Folsom 
Street,  San  Francisco.  At  twenty-five  minutes  past 
nine  he  had  been  observed,  by  the  butcher,  amus- 
ing himself  by  going  through  that  popular  youth- 
ful exercise  known  as  "  turning  the  crab,"  a  feat  in 
which  he  was  singularly  proficient.  At  a  court  of 
inquiry  summarily  held  in  the  back  parlor  at  10.15, 
Bridget,  cook,  deposed  to  have  detected  him  at 
twenty  minutes  past  nine,  in  the  felonious  abstrac- 
tion of  sugar  from  the  pantry,  which,  by  the  same 
token,  had  she  known  what  was  a-comin',  she  'd 
have  never  previnted.  Patsey,  a  shrill- voiced  youth 
from  a  neighboring  alley,  testified  to  have  seen 
"Chowley"  at  half  past  nine,  in  front  of  the 
butcher's  shop  round  the  corner,  but  as  this  young 
gentleman  chose  to  throw  out  the  gratuitous  belief 
that  the  missing  child  had  been  converted  into 
sausages  by  the  butcher,  his  testimony  was  re- 
ceived with  some  caution  by  the  female  portion  of 


SURPRISING  ADVENTURES.  211 

the  court,  and  with  downright  scorn  and  contume- 
ly by  its  masculine  members.  But  whatever  might 
have  been  the  hour  of  his  departure,  it  was  certain 
that  from  half  past  ten  A.  M.  until  nine  P.  M.,  when 
he  was  brought  home  by  a  policeman,  Charles  Sum- 
merton  was  missing.  Being  naturally  of  a  reticent 
disposition,  he  has  since  resisted,  with  but  one  ex- 
ception, any  attempt  to  wrest  from  him  a  statement 
of  his  whereabouts  during  that  period.  That  ex- 
ception has  been  myself.  He  has  related  to  me 
the  following  in  the  strictest  confidence. 

His  intention  on  leaving  the  door-steps  of  his 
dwelling  was  to  proceed  without  delay  to  Van  Die- 
man's  Land,  by  way  of  Second  and  Market  streets. 
This  project  was  subsequently  modified  so  far  as  to 
permit  a  visit  to  Otaheite,  where  Captain  Cook  was 
killed.  The  outfit  for  his  voyage  consisted  of  two 
car-tickets,  five  cents  in  silver,  a  fishing-line,  the 
brass  capping  of  a  spool  of  cotton,  which,  in  his 
eyes,  bore  some  resemblance  to  metallic  currency, 
and  a  Sunday-school  library  ticket.  His  garments, 
admirably  adapted  to  the  exigencies  of  any  climate, 
were  severally  a  straw  hat  with  a  pink  ribbon,  a 
striped  shirt,  over  which  a  pair  of  trousers,  uncom- 
monly wide  in  comparison  to  their  length,  were 
buttoned,  striped  balmoral  stockings,  which  gave 
his  youthful  legs  something  of  the  appearance  of 
wintergreen  candy,  and  copper-toed  shoes  with 
iron  heels,  capable  of  striking  fire  from  any  flag- 


212  SURPRISING  ADVENTURES. 

stone.  This  latter  quality,  Master  Charley  could 
not  help  feeling,  would  be  of  infinite  service  to  him 
in  the  wilds  of  Van  Dieman's  Land,  which,  as  pic- 
torially  represented  in  his  geography,  seemed  to  be 
deficient  in  corner  groceries  and  matches. 

Exactly  as  the  clock  struck  the  half-hour,  the 
short  legs  and  straw  hat  of  Master  Charles  Sum- 
merton  disappeared  around  the  corner.  He  ran 
rapidly,  partly  by  way  of  inuring  himself  to  the 
fatigues  of  the  journey  before  him,  and  partly  by 
way  of  testing  his  speed  with  that  of  a  North  Beach 
car  which  was  proceeding  in  his  direction.  The 
conductor,  not  being  aware  of  this  generous  and 
lofty  emulation,  and  being  somewhat  concerned  at 
the  spectacle  of  a  pair  of  very  short,  twinkling  legs 
so  far  in  the  rear,  stopped  his  car  and  generously 
assisted  the  youthful  Summerton  upon  the  plat- 
form. From  this  point  a  hiatus  of  several  hours' 
duration  occurs  in  Charles's  narrative.  He  is  under 
the  impression  that  he  "  rode  out "  not  only  his  two 
tickets,  but  that  he  became  subsequently  indebted 
to  the  company  for  several  trips  to  and  from  the 
opposite  termini,  and  that  at  last,  resolutely  refus- 
ing to  give  any  explanation  of  his  conduct,  he  was 
finally  ejected,  much  to  his  relief,  on  a  street  cor- 
ner. Although,  as  he  informs  us,  he  felt  perfectly 
satisfied  with  this  arrangement,  he  was  impelled 
under  the  circumstances  to  hurl  after  the  conductor 
an  opprobrious  appellation  which  he  had  ascertained 


SURPRISING  ADVENTURES.  213 

from  Patsey  was  the  correct  thing  in  such  emer- 
gencies, and  possessed  peculiarly  exasperating 
properties. 

We  now  approach  a  thrilling  part  of  the  narra- 
tive, before  which  most  of  the  adventures  of  the 
"  Boys'  Own  Book  "  pale  into  insignificance.  There 
are  times  when  the  recollection  of  this  adventure 
causes  Master  Charles  to  break  out  in  a  cold  sweat, 
and  he  has  several  times  since  its  occurrence  been 
awakened  by  lamentations  and  outcries  in  the  night 
season  by  merely  dreaming  of  it.  On  the  corner  of 
the  street  lay  several  large  empty  sugar  hogsheads. 
A  few  young  gentlemen  disported  themselves 
therein,  armed  with  sticks,  with  which  they  re- 
moved the  sugar  which  still  adhered  to  the  joints 
of  the  staves,  and  conveyed  it  to  their  mouths. 
Finding  a  cask  not  yet  preempted,  Master  Charles 
set  to  work,  and  for  a  few  moments  revelled  in  a 
wild  saccharine  dream,  whence  he  was  finally 
roused  by  an  angry  voice  and  the  rapidly  retreat- 
ing footsteps  of  his  comrades.  An  ominous  sound 
smote  his  ear,  and  the  next  moment  he  felt  the 
cask  wherein  he  lay  uplifted  and  set  upright  against 
the  wall.  He  was  a  prisoner,  but  as  yet  undiscov- 
ered. Being  satisfied  in  his  mind  that  hanging  was 
the  systematic  and  legalized  penalty  for  the  out- 
rage he  had  committed,  he  kept  down  manfully  the 
cry  that  rose  to  his  lips. 

In  a  few  moments  he  felt  the  cask  again  lifted 


214  SUBPBISING  ADVENTURES. 

by  a  powerful  hand,  which  appeared  above  him  at 
the  edge  of  his  prison,  and  which  he  concluded  be- 
longed to  the  ferocious  giant  Blunderbore,  whose 
features  and  limbs  he  had  frequently  met  in  colored 
pictures.  Before  he  could  recover  from  his  aston- 
ishment, his  cask  was  placed  with  several  others  on 
a  cart,  and  rapidly  driven  away.  The  ride  which 
ensued  he  describes  as  being  fearful  in  the  extreme. 
Eolled  around  like  a  pill  in  a  box,  the  agonies 
which  he  suffered  may  be  hinted  at,  not  spoken. 
Evidences  of  that  protracted  struggle  were  visible 
in  his  garments,  which  were  of  the  consistency  of 
syrup,  and  his  hair,  which  for  several  hours,  under 
the  treatment  of  hot  water,  yielded  a  thin  treacle. 
At  length  the  cart  stopped  on  one  of  the  wharves, 
and  the  cartman  began  to  unload.  As  he  tilted 
over  the  cask  in  which  Charles  lay,  an  exclamation 
broke  from  his  lips,  and  the  edge  of  the  cask  fell 
from  his  hands,  sliding  its  late  occupant  upon  the 
wharf.  To  regain  his  short  legs,  and  to  put  the 
greatest  possible  distance  between  himself  and  the 
cartman,  were  his  first  movements  on  regaining  his 
liberty.  He  did  not  stop  until  he  reached  the  corner 
of  Front  Street. 

Another  blank  succeeds  in  this  veracious  history. 
He  cannot  remember  how  or  when  he  found  him- 
self in  front  of  the  circus  tent.  He  has  an  indis- 
tinct recollection  of  having  passed  through  a  long 
street  of  stores  which  were  all  closed,  and  which 


SURPRISING  ADVENTURES.  215 

made  him  fear  that  it  was  Sunday,  and  that  he  had 
spent  a  miserable  night  in  the  sugar  cask.  But  he 
remembers  hearing  the  sound  of  music  within  the 
tent,  and  of  creeping  on  his  hands  and  knees,  when 
no  one  was  looking,  until  he  passed  under  the  can- 
vas. His  description  of  the  wonders  contained 
within  that  circle ;  of  the  terrific  feats  which  were 
performed  by  a  man  on  a  pole,  since  practised  by 
him  in  the  back  yard ;  of  the  horses,  one  of  which 
was  spotted  and  resembled  an  animal  in  his  Noah's 
Ark,  hitherto  unrecognized  and  undefined ;  of  the 
female  equestrians,  whose  dresses  could  only  be 
equalled  in  magnificence  by  the  frocks  of  his  sis- 
ter's doll ;  of  the  painted  clown,  whose  jokes  excited 
a  merriment,  somewhat  tinged  by  an  undefined 
fear,  was  an  effort  of  language  which  this  pen  could 
but  weakly  transcribe,  and  which  no  quantity  of 
exclamation  points  could  sufficiently  illustrate. 
He  is  not  quite  certain  what  followed.  He  remem- 
bers that  almost  immediately  on  leaving  the  circus 
it  became  dark,  and  that  he  fell  asleep,  waking  up 
at  intervals  on  the  corners  of  the  streets,  on  front 
steps,  in  somebody's  arms,  and  finally  in  his  own 
bed.  He  was  not  aware  of  experiencing  any  regret 
for  his  conduct ;  he  does  not  recall  feeling  at  any 
time  a  disposition  to  go  home ;  he  remembers  dis- 
tinctly that  he  felt  hungry. 

He  has  made  this  disclosure  in  confidence.  He 
wishes  it  to  be  respected.  He  wants  to  know  if 
you  have  five  cents  about  you. 


SIDEWALKINGS. 

r  I  ^HE  time  occupied  in  walking  to  and  from  my 
JL  business  I  have  always  found  to  yield  me 
a  certain  mental  enjoyment  which  no  other  part 
of  the  twenty-four  hours  could  give.  Perhaps  the 
physical  exercise  may  have  acted  as  a  gentle  stim- 
ulant of  the  brain,  but  more  probably  the  comfort- 
able consciousness  that  I  could  not  reasonably  be 
expected  to  be  doing  anything  else  —  to  be  study- 
ing or  improving  my  mind,  for  instance  —  always 
gave  a  joyous  liberty  to  my  fancy.  I  once  thought 
it  necessary  to  employ  this  interval  in  doing  sums 
in  arithmetic,  —  in  which  useful  study  I  was  and 
still  am  lamentably  deficient, — but  after  one  or  two 
attempts  at  peripatetic  computation,  I  gave  it  up. 
I  am  satisfied  that  much  enjoyment  is  lost  to  the 
world  by  this  nervous  anxiety  to  improve  our  lei' 
sure  moments,  which,  like  tne  "  shining  hours  "  of 
Dr.  "Watts,  unfortunately  oifer  the  greatest  facilities 
for  idle  pleasure.  I  feel  a  profound  pity  for  those 
misguided  beings  who  are  still  impelled  to  carry 
text-books  with  them  in  cars,  omnibuses,  and  ferry- 
boats, and  who  generally  manage  to  defraud  them- 
selves of  those  intervals  of  rest  they  most  require. 


SIDEWALKINGS.  217 

Nature  must  have  her  fallow  moments,  when  she 
covers  her  exhausted  fields  with  flowers  instead  of 
grain.  Deny  her  this,  and  the  next  crop  suffers  for 
it.  I  offer  this  axiom  as  some  apology  for  obtrud- 
ing upon  the  reader  a  few  of  the  speculations  which 
have  engaged  my  mind  during  these  daily  peram- 
bulations. 

Few  Calif ornians  know  how  to  lounge  gracefully. 
Business  habits,  and  a  deference  to  the  custom,  even 
with  those  who  have  no  business,  give  an  air  of 
restless  anxiety  to  every  pedestrian.  The  excep- 
tions to  this  rule  are  apt  to  go  to  the  other  extreme, 
and  wear  a  defiant,  obtrusive  kind  of  indolence 
which  suggests  quite  as  much  inward  disquiet  and 
unrest.  The  shiftless  lassitude  of  a  gambler  can 
never  be  mistaken  for  the  lounge  of  a  gentleman. 
Even  the  brokers  who  loiter  upon  Montgomery 
Street  at  high  noon  are  not  loungers.  Look  at  them 
closely  and  you  will  see  a  feverishness  and  anxiety 
under  the  mask  of  listlessness.  They  do  not  lounge 
—  they  lie  in  wait.  No  surer  sign,  I  imagine,  of 
our  peculiar  civilization  can  be  found  than  this  lack 
of  repose  in  its  constituent  elements.  You  cannot 
keep  Californians  quiet  even  in  their  amusements. 
They  dodge  in  and  out  of  the  theatre,  opera,  and 
lecture-room  ;  they  prefer  the  street  cars  to  walk- 
ing because  they  think  they  get  along  faster.  The 
difference  of  locomotion  between  Broadway,  New 
York,  and  Montgomery  Street,  San  Francisco,  is  a 


218  SIDEWALKINQS. 

comparative  view  of  Eastern  and  Western  civili- 
zation. 

There  is  a  habit  peculiar  to  many  walkers,  which 
Punch,  some  years  ago,  touched  upon  satirically, 
but  which  seems  to  have  survived  the  jester's  ridi- 
cule. It  is  that  custom  of  stopping  friends  in  the 
street,  to  whom  we  have  nothing  whatever  to  com- 
municate, but  whom  we  embarrass  for  no  other 
purpose  than  simply  to  show  our  friendship.  Jones 
meets  his  friend  Smith,  whom  he  has  met  in  nearly 
the  same  locality  but  a  few  hours  before.  During 
that  interval,  it  is  highly  probable  that  no  event 
of  any  importance  to  Smith,  nor  indeed  to  Jones, 
which  by  a  friendly  construction  Jones  could  im- 
agine Smith  to  be  interested  in,  has  occurred,  or  is 
likely  to  occur.  Yet  both  gentlemen  stop  and  shake 
hands  earnestly.  "  Well,  how  goes  it  ?  "  remarks 
Smith  with  a  vague  hope  that  something  may  have 
happened.  "  So  so,"  replies  the  eloquent  Jones, 
feeling  intuitively  the  deep  vacuity  of  his  friend 
answering  to  his  own.  A  pause  ensues,  in  which 
both  gentlemen  regard  each  other  with  an  imbecile 
smile  and  a  fervent  pressure  of  the  hand.  Smith 
draws  a  long  breath  and  looks  up  the  street ;  Jones 
sighs  heavily  and  gazes  down  the  street.  Another 
pause,  in  which  both  gentlemen  disengage  their 
respective  hands  and  glance  anxiously  around  for 
some  conventional  avenue  of  escape.  Finally, 
Smith  (with  a  sudden  assumption  of  having  for- 


SIDE  WALKINGS.  219 

gotten  an  important  engagement)  ejaculates, 
"Well,  I  must  be  off,"  —  a  remark  instantly 
echoed  by  the  voluble  Jones,  and  these  gentle- 
men separate,  only  to  repeat  their  miserable  for- 
mula the  next  day.  In  the  above  example  I  have 
compassionately  shortened  the  usual  leave-taking, 
which,  in  skilful  hands,  may  be  protracted  to  a 
length  which  I  shudder  to  recall.  I  have  some- 
times, when  an  active  participant  in  these  atrocious 
transactions,  lingered  in  the  hope  of  saying  some- 
thing natural  to  my  friend  (feeling  that  he,  too, 
was  groping  in  the  mazy  labyrinths  of  his  mind 
for  a  like  expression),  until  I  have  felt  that  we 
ought  to  have  been  separated  by  a  policeman.  It 
is  astonishing  how  far  the  most  wretched  joke  will 
go  in  these  emergencies,  and  how  it  will,  as  it  were, 
convulsively  detach  the  two  cohering  particles.  I 
have  laughed  (albeit  hysterically)  at  some  witticism 
under  cover  of  which  I  escaped,  that  five  minutes 
afterward  I  could  not  perceive  possessed  a  grain  of 
humor.  I  would  advise  any  person  who  may  fall 
into  this  pitiable  strait,  that,  next  to  getting  in  the 
way  of  a  passing  dray  and  being  forcibly  discon- 
nected, a  joke  is  the  most  efficacious.  A  foreign 
phrase  often  may  be  tried  with  success ;  I  have 
sometimes  known  Au  revoir  pronounced  "  0-reveer," 
to  have  the  effect  (as  it  ought)  of  severing  friends. 
But  this  is  a  harmless  habit  compared  to  a  cer- 
tain reprehensible  practice  in  which  sundry  feeble- 


220  SIDEWALKINGS. 

minded  young  men  indulge.  I  have  been  stopped 
in  the  street  and  enthusiastically  accosted  by  some 
fashionable  young  man,  who  has  engaged  me  in 
animated  conversation,  until  (quite  accidentally)  a 
certain  young  belle  would  pass,  whom  my  friend,  of 
course,  saluted.  As,  by  a  strange  coincidence,  this 
occurred  several  times  in  the  course  of  the  week, 
and  as  my  young  friend's  conversational  powers 
invariably  flagged  after  the  lady  had  passed,  I  am 
forced  to  believe  that  the  deceitful  young  wretch 
actually  used  me  as  a  conventional  background  to 
display  the  graces  of  his  figure  to  the  passing  fair. 
When  I  detected  the  trick,  of  course  I  made  a  point 
of  keeping  my  friend,  by  strategic  movements, 
with  his  back  toward  the  young  lady,  while  I  bowed 
to  her  myself.  Since  then,  I  understand  that  it  is 
a  regular  custom  of  these  callow  youths  to  encounter 
each  other,  with  simulated  cordiality,  some  paces 
in  front  of  the  young  lady  they  wish  to  recognize, 
so  that  she  cannot  possibly  cut  them.  The  cor- 
ner of  California  and  Montgomery  streets  is  their 
favorite  haunt.  They  may  be  easily  detected  by 
their  furtive  expression  of  eye,  which  betrays 
them  even  in  the  height  of  their  apparent  en- 
thusiasm. 

Speaking  of  eyes,  you  can  generally  settle  the 
average  gentility  and  good  breeding  of  the  people 
you  meet  in  the  street  by  the  manner  in  which 
they  return  or  evade  your  glance.  "  A  gentleman," 


SIDEWALKINGS.  221 

as  the  Autocrat  has  wisely  said,  is  always  "  calm- 
eyed."  There  is  just  enough  abstraction  in  his 
look  to  denote  his  individual  power  and  the  ca- 
pacity for  self-contemplation,  while  he  is,  neverthe- 
less, quietly  and  unobtrusively  observant.  He  does 
not  seek,  neither  does  he  evade  your  observation. 
Snobs  and  prigs  do  the  first ;  bashful  and  mean 
people  do  the  second.  There  are  some  men  who, 
on  meeting  your  eye,  immediately  assume  an  ex- 
pression quite  different  from  the  one  which  they 
previously  wore,  which,  whether  an  improvement 
or  not,  suggests  a  disagreeable  self-consciousness. 
Perhaps  they  fancy  they  are  betraying  something. 
There  are  others  who  return  your  look  with 
unnecessary  defiance,  which  suggests  a  like  con- 
cealment. The  symptoms  of  the  eye  are  generally 
borne  out  in  the  figure.  A  man  is  very  apt  to 
betray  his  character  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
appropriates  his  part  of  the  sidewalk.  The  man 
who  resolutely  keeps  the  middle  of  the  pavement, 
and  deliberately  brushes  against  you,  you  may  be 
certain  would  take  the  last  piece  of  pie  at  the 
hotel  table,  and  empty  the  cream-jug  on  its  way  to 
your  cup.  The  man  who  sidles  by  you,  keeping 
close  to  the  houses,  and  selecting  the  easiest  planks, 
manages  to  slip  through  life  in  some  such  way,  and 
to  evade  its  sternest  duties.  The  awkward  man, 
who  gets  in  your  way,  and  throws  you  back  upon 
the  man  behind  you,  and  so  manages  to  derange  the 


222  SIDEWALKINGS. 

harmonious  procession  of  an  entire  block,  is  very 
apt  to  do  the  same  thing  in  political  and  social 
economy.  The  inquisitive  man,  who  deliberately 
shortens  his  pace,  so  that  he  may  participate  in  the 
confidence  you  impart  to  your  companion,  has  an 
eye  not  unfamiliar  to  keyholes,  and  probably  opens 
his  wife's  letters.  The  loud  man,  who  talks  with 
the  intention  of  being  overheard,  is  the  same  egotist 
elsewhere.  If  there  was  any  justice  in  lago's 
sneer,  that  there  were  some  "  so  weak  of  soul  that 
in  their  sleep  they  mutter  their  affairs,"  what  shall 
be  said  of  the  walking  revery-babblers  ?  I  have 
met  men  who  were  evidently  rolling  over,  "  like  a 
sweet  morsel  under  the  tongue,"  some  speech  they 
were  about  to  make,  and  others  who  were  framing 
curses.  I  remember  once  that,  while  walking  be- 
hind an  apparently  respectable  old  gentleman,  he 
suddenly  uttered  the  exclamation,  "Well,  I'm 
d — d ! "  and  then  quietly  resumed  his  usual  man- 
ner. Whether  he  had  at  that  moment  become 
impressed  with  a  truly  orthodox  disbelief  in  his 
ultimate  salvation,  or  whether  he  was  simply 
indignant,  I  never  could  tell. 

I  have  been  hesitating  for  some  time  to  speak  — 
or  if  indeed  to  speak  at  all — of  that  lovely  and  critic- 
defying  sex,  whose  bright  eyes  and  voluble  prattle 
have  not  been  without  effect  in  tempering  the  aus- 
terities of  my  peripatetic  musing.  I  have  been 
humbly  thankful  that  I  have  been  permitted  to 


SIDEWALKINGS.  223 

view  their  bright  dresses  and  those  charming  bon- 
nets which  seem  to  have  brought  the  birds  and  flow- 
ers of  spring  within  the  dreary  limits  of  the  town,  and 
— - 1  trust  I  shall  not  be  deemed  unkind  in  saying 
it  —  my  pleasure  was  not  lessened  by  the  reflection 
that  the  display,  to  me  at  least,  was  inexpensive. 
I  have  walked  in  —  and  I  fear  occasionally  on  — 
the  train  of  the  loveliest  of  her  sex  who  has  preceded 
me.  If  I  have  sometimes  wondered  why  two 
young  ladies  always  began  to  talk  vivaciously  on 
the  approach  of  any  good-looking  fellow ;  if  I  have 
wondered  whether  the  mirror-like  qualities  of  all 
large  show-windows  at  all  influenced  their  curiosity 
regarding  silks  and  calicoes ;  if  I  have  ever  enter- 
tained the  same  ungentlemanly  thought  concerning 
daguerreotype  show-cases ;  if  I  have  ever  misin- 
terpreted the  eye-shot  which  has  passed  between 
two  pretty  women  —  more  searching,  exhaustive 
and  sincere  than  any  of  our  feeble  ogles ;  if  I  have 
ever  committed  these  or  any  other  impertinences, 
it  was  only  to  retire  beaten  and  discomfited,  and 
to  confess  that  masculine  philosophy,  while  it  soars 
beyond  Sirius  and  the  ring  of  Saturn,  stops  short  at 
the  steel  periphery  which  encompasses  the  simplest 
school-girl 


A  BOYS'  DOG. 

AS  I  lift  my  eyes  from  the  paper,  I  observe  a 
dog  lying  on  the  steps  of  the  opposite  house. 
His  attitude  might  induce  passers-by  and  casual 
observers  to  believe  him  to  belong  to  the  peo- 
ple who  live  there,  and  to  accord  to  him  a  certain 
standing  position.  I  have  seen  visitors  pat  him, 
under  the  impression  that  they  were  doing  an  act 
of  courtesy  to  his  master,  he  lending  himself  to 
the  fraud  by  hypocritical  contortions  of  the  body. 
But  his  attitude  is  one  of  deceit  and  simulation. 
He  has  neither  master  nor  habitation.  He  is  a 
very  Pariah  and  outcast ;  in  brief,  "  A  Boys'  Dog." 
There  is  a  degree  of  hopeless  and  irreclaimable 
vagabondage  expressed  in  this  epithet,  which  may 
not  be  generally  understood.  Only  those  who  are 
familiar  with  the  roving  nature  and  predatory 
instincts  of  boys  in  large  cities  will  appreciate  it? 
strength.  It  is  the  lowest  step  in  the  social  scale 
to  which  a  respectable  canine  can  descend.  A 
blind  man's  dog,  or  the  companion  of  a  knife- 
grinder,  is  comparatively  elevated.  He  at  least 
owes  allegiance  to  but  one  master.  But  the  Boys* 
Dog  is  the  thrall  of  an  entire  juvenile  community, 


A  BOYS'  DOG.  225 

obedient  to  the  beck  and  call  of  the  smallest  imp 
in  the  neighborhood,  attached  to  and  serving  not 
the  individual  boy  so  much  as  the  boy  element 
and  principle.  In  their  active  sports,  in  small 
thefts,  raids  into  back-yards,  window-breaking,  and 
other  minor  juvenile  recreations,  he  is  a  full  parti- 
cipant. In  this  way  he  is  the  reflection  of  the 
wickedness  of  many  masters,  without  possessing 
the  virtues  or  peculiarities  of  any  particular  one. 

If  leading  a  "  dog's  life "  be  considered  a  pe- 
culiar phase  of  human  misery,  the  life  of  a  Boys' 
Dog  is  still  more  infelicitous.  He  is  associated  in 
all  schemes  of  wrong-doing,  and  unless  he  be  a  dog 
of  experience  is  always  the  scapegoat.  He  never 
shares  the  booty  of  his  associates.  In  absence 
of  legitimate  amusement,  he  is  considered  fair 
game  for  his  companions;  and  I  have  seen  him 
reduced  to  the  ignominy  of  having  a  tin  kettle 
tied  to  his  tail.  His  ears  and  tail  have  generally 
been  docked  to  suit  the  caprice  of  the  unholy  band 
of  which  he  is  a  member ;  and  if  he  has  any  spunk, 
he  is  invariably  pitted  against  larger  dogs  in  mortal 
combat.  He  is  poorly  fed  and  hourly  abused  ;  the 
reputation  of  his  associates  debars  him  from  out- 
side sympathies ;  and  once  a  Boys'  Dog,  he  cannot 
change  his  condition.  He  is  not  unfrequently  sold 
into  slavery  by  his  inhuman  companions.  I  re- 
member once  to  have  been  accosted  on  my  own 
doorsteps  by  a  couple  of  precocious  youths,  who 


226  A  BOYS'   DOG. 

offered  to  sell  me  a  dog  which  they  were  then 
leading  by  a  rope.  The  price  was  extremely  mod- 
erate, being,  if  I  remember  rightly,  but  fifty  cents. 
Imagining  the  unfortunate  animal  to  have  lately 
fallen  into  their  wicked  hands,  and  anxious  to 
reclaim  him  from  the  degradation  of  becoming  a 
Boys'  Dog,  I  was  about  to  conclude  the  bargain, 
when  I  saw  a  look  of  intelligence  pass  between 
the  dog  and  his  two  masters.  I  promptly  stopped 
all  negotiation,  and  drove  the  youthful  swindlers 
and  their  four-footed  accomplice  from  my  presence. 
The  whole  thing  was  perfectly  plain.  The  dog 
was  an  old,  experienced,  and  hardened  Boys'  Dog, 
and  I  was  perfectly  satisfied  that  he  would  run 
away  and  rejoin  his  old  companions  at  the  first 
opportunity.  This  I  afterwards  learned  he  did,  on 
the  occasion  of  a  kind-hearted  but  unsophisticated 
neighbor  buying  him ;  and  a  few  days  ago  I  saw 
him  exposed  for  sale  by  those  two  Arcadians,  in 
another  neighborhood,  having  been  bought  and 
paid  for  half  a  dozen  times  in  this. 

But,  it  will  be  asked,  if  the  life  of  a  Boys'  Dog 
is  so  unhappy,  why  do  they  enter  upon  such  an  un- 
enviable situation,  and  why  do  they  not  dissolve  the 
partnership  when  it  becomes  unpleasant  ?  I  will 
confess  that  I  have  been  often  puzzled  by  this 
question.  For  some  time  I  could  not  make  up  my 
mind  whether  their  unholy  alliance  was  the  result 
of  the  influence  of  the  dog  on  the  boy,  or  vice 


A  BOYS'  DOG.  227 

and  which  was  the  weakest  and  most  impressible 
nature.  I  am  satisfied  now  that,  at  first,  the  dog 
is  undoubtedly  influenced  by  the  boy,  and,  as  it 
were,  is  led,  while  yet  a  puppy,  from  the  paths  of 
canine  rectitude  by  artful  and  designing  boys.  As 
he  grows  older  and  more  experienced  in  the  ways 
of  his  Bohemian  friends,  he  becomes  a  willing 
decoy,  and  takes  delight  in  leading  boyish  inno- 
cence astray,  in  beguiling  children  to  play  truant, 
and  thus  revenges  his  own  degradation  on  the  boy 
nature  generally.  It  is  in  this  relation,  and  in 
regard  to  certain  unhallowed  practices  I  have  de- 
tected him  in,  that  I  deem  it  proper  to  expose  to 
parents  and  guardians  the  danger  to  which  their 
offspring  is  exposed  by  the  Boys'  Dog. 

The  Boys'  Dog  lays  his  plans  artfully.  He  be- 
gins to  influence  the  youthful  mind  by  suggestions 
of  unrestrained  freedom  and  frolic  which  he  offers 
in  his  own  person.  He  will  lie  in  wait  at  the 
garden  gate  for  a  very  small  boy,  and  endeavor  to 
lure  him  outside  its  sacred  precincts,  by  gambolling 
and  jumping  a  little  beyond  the  inclosure.  He 
will  set  off  on  an  imaginary  chase  and  run  around 
the  block  in  a  perfectly  frantic  manner,  and  then 
return,  breathless,  to  his  former  position,  with  a 
look  as  of  one  who  would  say,  "There,  you  see 
how  perfectly  easy  it 's  done  ! "  Should  the  un- 
happy infant  find  it  difficult  to  resist  the  effect 
which  this  glimpse  of  the  area  of  freedom  pro- 


228  A  BOYS'   DOG. 

duces,  and  step  beyond  the  gate,  from  that  moment 
he  is  utterly  demoralized.  The  Boys'  Dog  owns 
him  body  and  souL  Straightway  he  is  led  by  the 
deceitful  brute  into  the  unhallowed  circle  of  his 
Bohemian  masters.  Sometimes  the  unfortunate 
boy,  if  he  be  very  small,  turns  up  eventually  at 
the  station-house  as  a  lost  child.  Whenever  I 
meet  a  stray  boy  in  the  street  looking  utterly  be- 
wildered and  astonished,  I  generally  find  a  Boys' 
Dog  lurking  on  the  corner.  When  I  read  the  ad- 
vertisements of  lost  children,  I  always  add  men- 
tally to  the  description, "  was  last  seen  in  company 
with  a  Boys'  Dog."  Nor  is  his  influence  wholly 
confined  to  small  boys.  I  have  seen  him  waiting 
patiently  for  larger  boys  on  the  way  to  school,  and 
by  artful  and  sophistical  practices  inducing  them 
to  play  truant.  I  have  seen  him  lying  at  the 
school-house  door,  with  the  intention  of  enticing 
the  children  on  their  way  home  to  distant  and  re- 
mote localities.  He  has  led  many  an  unsuspecting 
boy  to  the  wharves  and  quays  by  assuming  the 
character  of  a  water-dog,  which  he  was  not,  and 
again  has  induced  others  to  go  with  him  on  a  gun- 
ning excursion  by  pretending  to  be  a  sporting  dog, 
in  which  quality  he  was  knowingly  deficient.  Un- 
scrupulous, hypocritical,  and  deceitful,  he  has  won 
many  children's  hearts  by  answering  to  any  name 
they  might  call  him,  attaching  himself  to  their 
persons  until  they  got  into  trouble,  and  deserting 


A  BOYS'   DOG.  229 

them  at  the  very  moment  they  most  needed  his 
assistance.  I  have  seen  him  rob  small  school-boys 
of  their  dinners  by  pretending  to  knock  them 
down  by  accident ;  and  have  seen  larger  boys  in 
turn  dispossess  him  of  his  ill-gotten  booty  for 
their  own  private  gratification.  From  being  a  tool, 
he  has  grown  to  be  an  accomplice ;  through  much 
imposition,  he  has  learned  to  impose  on  others ;  in 
his  best  character,  he  is  simply  a  vagabond's  vaga- 
bond. 

I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  pity  him,  as  he 
lies  there  through  the  long  summer  afternoon,  en- 
joying brief  intervals  of  tranquillity  and  rest  which 
he  surreptitiously  snatches  from  a  stranger's  door- 
step. For  a  shrill  whistle  is  heard  in  the  streets, 
the  boys  are  coming  home  from  school,  and  he  is 
startled  from  his  dreams  by  a  deftly  thrown  potato, 
which  hits  him  on  the  head,  and  awakens  him  to 
the  stern  reality  that  he  is  now  and  forever  —  a 
Boys'  Dog. 


CHAEITABLE  EEMINISCENCES. 

A  S  the  new  Benevolent  Association  has  had  the 
-*V  effect  of  withdrawing  beggars  from  the  streets, 
and  as  Professional  Mendicancy  bids  fair  to  be  pres- 
ently ranked  with  the  Lost  Arts,  to  preserve  some 
records  of  this  noble  branch  of  industry,  I  have 
endeavored  to  recall  certain  traits  and  peculiarities 
of  individual  members  of  the  order  whom  I  have 
known,  and  whose  forms  I  now  miss  from  their  ac- 
customed haunts.  In  so  doing,  I  confess  to  feeling 
a  certain  regret  at  this  decay  of  Professional  Beg- 
ging, for  I  hold  the  theory  that  mankind  are  bettered 
by  the  occasional  spectacle  of  misery,  whether 
simulated  or  not,  on  the  same  principle  that  our 
sympathies  are  enlarged  by  the  fictitious  woes  of  the 
Drama,  though  we  know  that  the  actors  are  insin- 
cere. Perhaps  I  am  indiscreet  in  saying  that  I  have 
rewarded  the  artfully  dressed  and  well-acted  per- 
formance of  the  begging  impostor  through  the  same 
impulse  that  impelled  me  to  expend  a  dollar  in 
witnessing  the  counterfeited  sorrows  of  poor  "  Trip- 
let," as  represented  by  Charles  Wheatleigh.  I 
did  not  quarrel  with  deceit  in  either  case.  My 
coin  was  given  in  recognition  of  the  sentiment; 


CHARITABLE   REMINISCENCES.  231 

the   moral    responsibility  rested  with    the    per- 
former. 

The  principal  figure  that  I  now  mourn  over  as 
lost  forever  is  one  that  may  have  been  familiar  to 
many  of  my  readers.  It  was  that  of  a  dark-com- 
plexioned, black-eyed,  foreign-looking  woman,  who 
supported  in  her  arms  a  sickly  baby.  As  a  patho- 
logical phenomenon  the  baby  was  especially  inter- 
esting, having  presented  the  Hippocratic  face  and 
other  symptoms  of  immediate  dissolution,  without 
change,  for  the  past  three  years.  The  woman 
never  verbally  solicited  alms.  Her  appearance 
was  always  mute,  mysterious,  and  sudden.  She 
made  no  other  appeal  than  that  which  the  dramatic 
tableau  of  herself  and  baby  suggested,  with  an  out- 
stretched hand  and  deprecating  eye  sometimes 
superadded.  She  usually  stood  in  my  doorway, 
silent  and  patient,  intimating  her  presence,  if  my 
attention  were  preoccupied,  by  a  slight  cough  from 
her  baby,  whom  I  shall  always  believe  had  its  part 
to  play  in  this  little  pantomime,  and  generally 
obeyed  a  secret  signal  from  the  maternal  hand.  It 
was  useless  for  me  to  refuse  alms,  to  plead  business, 
or  affect  inattention.  She  never  moved ;  her  position 
was  always  taken  with  an  appearance  of  latent 
capabilities  of  endurance  and  experience  in  waiting 
which  never  failed  to  impress  me  with  awe  and  the 
futility  of  any  hope  of  escape.  There  was  also  some- 
thing in  the  reproachful  expression  of  her  eye  which 


232  CHARITABLE  REMINISCENCES. 

plainly  said  to  me,  as  I  bent  over  my  paper, ''  Go 
on  with  your  mock  sentimentalities  and  simulated 
pathos ;  portray  the  imaginary  sufferings  of  your 
bodiless  creations,  spread  your  thin  web  of  philos- 
ophy, but  look  you,  sir,  here  is  real  misery !  Here 
is  genuine  suffering ! "  I  confess  that  this  artful 
suggestion  usually  brought  me  down.  In  three 
minutes  after  she  had  thus  invested  the  citadel  I 
usually  surrendered  at  discretion,  without  a  gun 
having  been  fired  on  either  side.  She  received  my 
offering  and  retired  as  mutely  and  mysteriously  as 
she  had  appeared.  Perhaps  it  was  well  for  me 
that  she  did  not  know  her  strength.  I  might  have 
been  forced,  had  this  terrible  woman  been  con- 
scious of  her  real  power,  to  have  borrowed  money 
which  I  could  not  pay,  or  have  forged  a  check  to 
purchase  immunity  from  her  awful  presence.  I 
hardly  know  if  I  make  myself  understood,  and  yet 
I  am  unable  to  define  my  meaning  more  clearly 
when  I  say  that  there  was  something  in  her  glance 
which  suggested  to  the  person  appealed  to,  when 
in  the  presence  of  others,  a  certain  idea  of  some 
individual  responsibility  for  her  sufferings,  which, 
while  it  never  failed  to  affect  him  with  a  mingled 
sense  of  ludicrousness  and  terror,  always  made  an 
impression  of  unqualified  gravity  on  the  minds  of 
the  bystanders.  As  she  has  disappeared  within 
the  last  month,  I  imagine  that  she  has  found  a 
home  at  the  San  Francisco  Benevolent  Association, 


CHARITABLE  REMINISCENCES.  233 

—  at  least,  I  cannot  conceive  of  any  charity, 
however  guarded  by  wholesome  checks  or  sharp- 
eyed  almoners,  that  could  resist  that  mute  appa- 
rition. I  should  like  to  go  there  and  inquire  about 
her,  and  also  learn  if  the  baby  was  convalescent  or 
dead,  but  I  am  satisfied  that  she  would  rise  up,  a 
mute  and  reproachful  appeal,  so  personal  in  its 
artful  suggestions,  that  it  would  end  in  the  Asso- 
ciation instantly  transferring  her  to  my  hands. 

My  next  familiar  mendicant  was  a  vender  of 
printed  ballads.  These  effusions  were  so  stale, 
atrocious,  and  unsalable  in  their  character,  that  it 
was  easy  to  detect  that  hypocrisy,  which  —  in 
imitation  of  more  ambitious  beggary  —  veiled  the 
real  eleemosynary  appeal  under  the  thin  pretext 
of  offering  an  equivalent.  This  beggar  —  an  aged 
female  in  a  rusty  bonnet  —  I  unconsciously  precip- 
itated upon  myself  in  an  evil  moment.  On  our 
first  meeting,  while  distractedly  turning  over  the 
ballads,  I  came  upon  a  certain  production  entitled, 
I  think,  "  The  Fire  Zouave,"  and  was  struck  with 
the  truly  patriotic  and  American  manner  in  which 
"  Zouave  "  was  made  to  rhyme  in  different  stanzas 
with  "  grave,  brave,  save,  and  glaive."  As  I  pur- 
chased it  at  once,  with  a  gratified  expression  of 
countenance,  it  soon  became  evident  that  the  act 
was  misconstrued  by  my  poor  friend,  who  from 
that  moment  never  ceased  to  haunt  me.  Perhaps 
in  the  whole  course  of  her  precarious  existence 


234  CHARITABLE  REMINISCENCES. 

she  had  never  before  sold  a  ballad.  My  solitary 
purchase  evidently  made  me,  in  her  eyes,  a  cus- 
tomer, and  in  a  measure  exalted  her  vocation  ;  so 
thereafter  she  regularly  used  to  look  in  at  my 
door,  with  a  chirping,  confident  air,  and  the  ques- 
tion, "  Any  more  songs  to-day  ? "  as  though  it  were 
some  necessary  article  of  daily  consumption.  I 
never  took  any  more  of  her  songs,  although  that 
circumstance  did  not  shake  her  faith  in  my  literary 
taste;  my  abstinence  from  this  exciting  mental 
pabulum  being  probably  ascribed  to  charitable 
motives.  She  was  finally  absorbed  by  the  S.  F. 
B.  A.,  who  have  probably  made  a  proper  disposi- 
tion of  her  effects.  She  was  a  little  old  woman, 
of  Celtic  origin,  predisposed  to  melancholy,  and 
looking  as  if  she  had  read  most  of  her  ballads. 

My  next  reminiscence  takes  the  shape  of  a  very 
seedy  individual,  who  had,  for  three  or  four  years, 
been  vainly  attempting  to  get  back  to  his  relatives 
in  Illinois,  where  sympathizing  friends  and  a  com- 
fortable almshouse  awaited  him.  Only  a  few  dol- 
lars, he  informed  me, —  the  uncontributed  remain- 
der of  the  amount  necessary  to  purchase  a  steerage 
ticket,  —  stood  in  his  way.  These  last  few  dollars 
seem  to  have  been  most  difficult  to  get,  and  he 
had  wandered  about,  a  sort  of  antithetical  Flying 
Dutchman,  forever  putting  to  sea,  yet  never  getting 
away  from  shore.  He  was  a  "  49-er,"  and  had  re- 
cently been  blown  up  in  a  tunnel,  or  had  fallen 


CHARITABLE  REMINISCENCES.  235 

down  a  shaft,  I  forget  which.  This  sad  accident 
obliged  him  to  use  large  quantities  of  whiskey  as 
a  liniment,  which,  he  informed  me,  occasioned 
the  mild  fragrance  which  his  garments  exhaled. 
Though  belonging  to  the  same  class,  he  was  not  to 
be  confounded  with  the  unfortunate  miner  who 
could  not  get  back  to  his  claim  without  pecuniary 
assistance,  or  the  desolate  Italian,  who  hopelessly 
handed  you  a  document  in  a  foreign  language,  very 
much  bethumbed  and  illegible,  —  which,  in  your 
ignorance  of  the  tongue,  you  could  n't  help  suspi- 
ciously feeling  might  have  been  a  price  current, 
but  which  you  could  see  was  proffered  as  an  excuse 
for  alms.  Indeed,  whenever  any  stranger  handed 
me,  without  speaking,  an  open  document,  which 
bore  the  marks  of  having  been  carried  in  the  greasy 
lining  of  a  hat,  I  always  felt  safe  in  giving  him  a 
quarter  and  dismissing  him  without  further  ques- 
tioning. I  always  noticed  that  these  circular  letters, 
when  written  in  the  vernacular,  were  remarkable 
for  their  beautiful  caligraphy  and  grammatical  in- 
accuracy, and  that  they  all  seem  to  have  been  writ- 
ten by  the  same  hand.  Perhaps  indigence  exer- 
cises a  peculiar  and  equal  effect  upon  the  hand- 
writing. 

I  recall  a  few  occasional  mendicants  whose  faces 
were  less  familiar.  One  afternoon  a  most  extraor- 
dinary Irishman,  with  a  black  eye,  a  bruised  hat, 
and  other  traces  of  past  enjoyment,  waited  upon 


236  CHARITABLE   REMINISCENCES. 

me  with  a  pitiful  story  of  destitution  and  want, 
and  concluded  by  requesting  the  usual  trifle.  I 
replied,  with  some  severity,  that  if  I  gave  him  a 
dime  he  would  probably  spend  it  for  drink  "  Be 
Gorra  !  but  you  're  roight  —  I  wad  that ! "  he  an- 
swered promptly.  I  was  so  much  taken  aback  by 
this  unexpected  exhibition  of  frankness  that  I  in- 
stantly handed  over  the  dime.  It  seems  that  Truth 
had  survived  the  wreck  of  his  other  virtues ;  he 
did  get  drunk,  and,  impelled  by  a  like  conscientious 
sense  of  duty,  exhibited  himself  to  me  in  that 
state  a  few  hours  after,  to  show  that  my  bounty 
had  not  been  misapplied. 

In  spite  of  the  peculiar  characters  of  these  rem- 
iniscences, I  cannot  help  feeling  a  certain  regret 
at  the  decay  of  Professional  Mendicancy.  Perhaps 
it  may  be  owing  to  a  lingering  trace  of  that  youth- 
ful superstition  which  saw  in  all  beggars  a  possible 
prince  or  fairy,  and  invested  their  calling  with  a 
mysterious  awe.  Perhaps  it  may  be  from  a  belief 
that  there  is  something  in  the  old-fashioned  alms- 
givings and  actual  contact  with  misery  that  is 
wholesome  for  both  donor  and  recipient,  and  that 
any  system  which  interposes  a  third  party  between 
them  is  only  putting  on  a  thick  glove,  which,  while 
it  preserves  us  from  contagion,  absorbs  and  dead- 
ens the  kindly  pressure  of  our  hand.  It  is  a  very 
pleasant  thing  to  purchase  relief  from  the  annoy- 
ance and  trouble  of  having  to  weigh  the  claims  of 


CHARITABLE   REMINISCENCES.  237 

an  afflicted  neighbor.  As  I  turn  over  these  printed 
tickets,  which  the  courtesy  of  the  San  Francisco 
Benevolent  Association  has  —  by  a  slight  stretch 
of  the  imagination  in  supposing  that  any  sane 
unfortunate  might  rashly  seek  relief  from  a  news- 
paper office  —  conveyed  to  these  editorial  hands,  I 
cannot  help  wondering  whether,  when  in  our  last 
extremity  we  come  to  draw  upon  the  Immeasurable 
Bounty,  it  will  be  necessary  to  present  a  ticket. 


*  SEEING  THE  STEAMEK  OFF.** 

I  HAVE  sometimes  thought,  while  watching  the 
departure  of  an  Eastern  steamer,  that  the  act 
of  parting  from  friends—  so  generally  one  of  bit- 
terness and  despondency  —  is  made  by  an  ingenious 
Californian  custom  to  yield  a  pleasurable  excite- 
ment. This  luxury  of  leave-taking,  in  which  most 
Californians  indulge,  is  often  protracted  to  the 
hauling  in  of  the  gang-plank.  Those  last  words, 
injunctions,  promises,  and  embraces,  which  are 
mournful  and  depressing  perhaps  in  that  privacy 
demanded  on  other  occasions,  are  here,  by  reason  of 
their  very  publicity,  of  an  edifying  and  exhilarat- 
ing character.  A  parting  kiss,  blown  from  the  deck 
of  a  steamer  into  a  miscellaneous  crowd,  of  course 
loses  much  of  that  sacred  solemnity  with  which 
foolish  superstition  is  apt  to  invest  it.  A  broad- 
side of  endearing  epithets,  even  when  properly 
aimed  and  apparently  raking  the  whole  wharf,  is 
apt  to  be  impotent  and  harmless.  A  husband  who 
prefers  to  embrace  his  wife  for  the  last  time  at  the 
door  of  her  stateroom,  and  finds  himself  the  centre 
of  an  admiring  group  of  unconcerned  spectators, 
of  course  feels  himself  lifted  above  any  feeling 


"SEEING  THE  STEAMER   OFF."  239 

save  that  of  ludicrousness  which  the,  situation  sug- 
gests. The  mother,  parting  from  her  offspring, 
should  become  a  Roman  matron  under  the  like  in- 
fluences ;  the  lover  who  takes  leave  of  his  sweet- 
heart is  not  apt  to  mar  the  general  hilarity  by  any 
emotional  folly.  In  fact,  this  system  of  delaying 
our  parting  sentiments  until  the  last  moment  — 
this  removal  of  domestic  scenery  and  incident  to 
a  public  theatre  —  may  be  said  to  be  worthy  of  a 
stoical  and  democratic  people,  and  is  an  event  in 
our  lives  which  may  be  shared  with  the  humblest 
coal-passer  or  itinerant  vender  of  oranges.  It  is 
a  return  to  that  classic  out-of-door  experience  and 
mingling  of  public  and  domestic  economy  which 
so  ennobled  the  straight-nosed  Athenian. 

So  universal  is  this  desire  to  be  present  at  the 
departure  of  any  steamer  that,  aside  from  the  regular 
crowd  of  loungers  who  make  their  appearance  con- 
fessedly only  to  look  on,  there  are  others  who  take 
advantage  of  the  slightest  intimacy  to  go  through 
the  leave-taking  formula.  People  whom  you  have 
quite  forgotten,  people  to  whom  you  have  been 
lately  introduced,  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  make 
their  appearance  and  wring  your  hands  with  fervor. 
The  friend,  long  estranged,  forgives  you  nobly  at 
the  last  moment,  to  take  advantage  of  this  glorious 
opportunity  of  "  seeing  you  off."  Your  bootmaker, 
tailor,  and  hatter  —  haply  with  no  ulterior  motives 
and  unaccompanied  by  official  friends  —  visit  you 


240  "SEEING  THE  STEAMER   OFF." 

with  enthusiasm.  You  find  great  difficulty  in  de- 
taching your  relatives  and  acquaintances  from  the 
trunks  on  which  they  resolutely  seat  themselves, 
up  to  the  moment  when  the  paddles  are  moving, 
and  you  are  haunted  continually  by  an  ill-defined 
idea  that  they  may  be  carried  off,  and  foisted  on 
you  —  with  the  payment  of  their  passage,  which, 
under  the  circumstances,  you  could  not  refuse  — 
for  the  rest  of  the  voyage.  Your  friends  will 
make  their  appearance  at  the  most  inopportune 
moments,  and  from  the  most  unexpected  places,  — 
dangling  from  hawsers,  climbing  up  paddle-boxes, 
and  crawling  through  cabin  windows  at  the  immi- 
nent peri]  of  their  lives.  You  are  nervous  and 
crushed  by  this  added  weight  of  responsibility. 
Should  you  be  a  stranger,  you  will  find  any 
number  of  people  on  board,  who  will  cheerfully 
and  at  a  venture  take  leave  of  you  on  the  slightest 
advances  made  on  your  part.  A  friend  of  mine 
assures  me  that  he  once  parted,  with  great  enthu- 
siasm and  cordiality,  from  a  party  of  gentlemen, 
to  him  personally  unknown,  who  had  apparently 
mistaken  his  state-room.  This  party,  —  evidently 
connected  with  some  fire  company,  —  on  comparing 
notes  on  the  wharf,  being  somewhat  dissatisfied 
with  the  result  of  their  performances,  afterward 
rendered  my  friend's  position  on  the  hurricane 
deck  one  of  extreme  peril  and  inconvenience,  by 
reason  of  skilfully  projected  oranges  and  apples, 


"SEEING  THE   STEAMER   OFF."  241 

accompanied  with  some  invective.  Yet  there  is 
certainly  something  to  interest  us  in  the  examina- 
tion of  that  cheerless  damp  closet,  whose  painted 
wooden  walls  no  furniture  or  company  can  make 
habitable,  wherein  our  friend  is  to  spend  so  many 
vapid  days  and  restless  nights.  The  sight  of  these 
apartments,  yclept  state-rooms,  —  Heaven  knows 
why,  except  it  be  from  their  want  of  cosiness,  — 
is  full  of  keen  reminiscences  to  most  Californians 
who  have  not  outgrown  the  memories  of  that 
dreary  interval  when,  in  obedience  to  nature's  wise 
compensations,  homesickness  was  blotted  out  by 
sea-sickness,  and  both  at  last  resolved  into  a  cha- 
otic and  distempered  dream,  whose  details  we  now 
recognize.  The  steamer  chair  that  we  used  to  drag 
out  upon  the  narrow  strip  of  deck  and  doze  in, 
over  the  pages  of  a  well-thumbed  novel ;  the  deck 
itself,  of  afternoons,  redolent  with  the  skins  of 
oranges  and  bananas,  of  mornings,  damp  with 
salt-water  and  mopping;  the  netted  bulwark, 
smelling  of  tar  in  the  tropics,  and  fretted  on  the 
weather  side  with  little  saline  crystals ;  the  vil- 
lanously  compounded  odors  of  victuals  from  the 
pantry,  and  oil  from  the  machinery ;  the  young 
lady  that  we  used  to  flirt  with,  and  with  whom 
we  shared  our  last  novel,  adorned  with  marginal 
annotations  ;  our  own  chum ;  our  own  bore ;  the 
man  who  was  never  sea-sick ;  the  two  events  of 

the  day,  breakfast  and  dinner,  and  the  dreary  in- 
11  p 


242  "SEEING  THE  STEAMER   OFF." 

terval  between ;  the  tremendous  importance  giver 
to  trifling  events  and  trifling  people ;  the  young 
lady  who  kept  a  journal ;  the  newspaper,  published 
on  board,  filled  with  mild  pleasantries  and  imper- 
tinences, elsewhere  unendurable  ;  the  young  lady 
who  sang;  the  wealthy  passenger;  the  popular 
passenger;  the  — 

[Let  us  sit  down  for  a  moment  until  this  qualm- 
ishness, which  these  associations  and  some  infec- 
tious quality  of  the  atmosphere  seem  to  produce, 
has  passed  away.  What  becomes  of  our  steamer 
friends  ?  Why  are  we  now  so  apathetic  about 
them  ?  Why  is  it  that  we  drift  away  from  them 
eo  unconcernedly,  forgetting  even  their  names  and 
faces  ?  Why,  when  we  do  remember  them,  do  we 
look  at  them  so  suspiciously,  with  an  undefined 
idea  that,  in  the  unrestrained  freedom  of  the  voy- 
age, they  became  possessed  of  some  confidence  and 
knowledge  of  our  weaknesses  that  we  never  should 
have  imparted  ?  Did  we  make  any  such  confes- 
sions ?  Perish  the  thought.  The  popular  man, 
however,  is  not  now  so  popular.  We  have  heard 
finer  voices  than  that  of  the  young  lady  who  sang 
so  sweetly.  Our  chum's  fascinating  qualities,  some- 
how, have  deteriorated  on  land ;  so  have  those  of 
the  fair  young  novel-reader,  now  the  wife  of  an 
honest  miner  in  Virginia  City.] 

—  The  passenger  who  made  so  many  trips,  and 
exhibited  a  reckless  familiarity  with  the  officers ; 


"SEEING  THE  STEAMER   OFF."  243 

the  officers  themselves,  now  so  modest  and  unde- 
monstrative, a  few  hours  later  so  all-powerful  and 
important,  —  these  are  among  the  reminiscences 
of  most  Californians,  and  these  are  to  be  remem- 
bered among  the  experiences  of  our  friend.  Yet 
he  feels,  as  we  all  do,  that  his  past  experience  will 
be  of  profit  to  him,  and  has  already  the  confident 
air  of  an  old  voyager. 

As  you  stand  on  the  wharf  again,  and  listen  to 
the  cries  of  itinerant  fruit  venders,  you  wonder 
why  it  is  that  grief  at  parting  and  the  unpleasant 
novelties  of  travel  are  supposed  to  be  assuaged  by 
oranges  and  apples,  even  at  ruinously  low  prices. 
Perhaps  it  may  be,  figuratively,  the  last  offering  of 
the  fruitful  earth,  as  the  passenger  commits  him- 
self to  the  bosom  of  the  sterile  and  unproductive 
ocean.  Even  while  the  wheels  are  moving  and  the 
lines  are  cast  off,  some  hardy  apple  merchant, 
mounted  on  the  top  of  a  pile,  concludes  a  trade 
with  a  steerage  passenger,  —  twenty  feet  inter- 
posing between  buyer  and  seller,  —  and  achieves, 
under  these  difficulties,  the  delivery  of  his  wares. 
Handkerchiefs  wave,  hurried  orders  mingle  with 
parting  blessings,  and  the  steamer  is  "off."  As 
you  turn  your  face  cityward,  and  glance  hurriedly 
around  at  the  retreating  crowd,  you  will  see  a 
reflection  of  your  own  wistful  face  in  theirs,  and 
read  the  solution  of  one  of  the  problems  which 
perplex  the  California  enthusiast.  Before  you  lies 


244  "SEEING  THE  STEAMER  OFF." 

San  Francisco,  with  her  hard  angular  outlines,  her 
brisk,  invigorating  breezes,  her  bright,  but  unsym- 
pathetic sunshine,  her  restless  and  energetic  pop- 
ulation; behind  you  fades  the  recollection  of 
changeful,  but  honest  skies ;  of  extremes  of  heat 
and  cold,  modified  and  made  enjoyable  through 
social  and  physical  laws,  of  pastoral  landscapes,  of 
accessible  Nature  in  her  kindliest  forms,  of  in- 
herited virtues,  of  long-tested  customs  and  hab- 
its, of  old  friends  and  old  faces, — in  a  word— - 
of  HOME  I 


iraiGHBOKHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FKOM. 


A  BAY-WINDOW  once  settled  the  choice  of 
my  house  and  compensated  for  many  of  its  in- 
conveniences. When  the  chimney  smoked,  or  the 
doors  alternately  shrunk  and  swelled,  resisting  any 
forcible  attempt  to  open  them,  dr  opening  of  them- 
selves with  ghostly  deliberation,  or  when  suspicious 
blotches  appeared  on  the  ceiling  in  rainy  weather, 
there  was  always  the  bay-window  to  turn  to  for 
comfort.  And  the  view  was  a  fine  one.  Alcatraz, 
Lime  Point,  Fort  Point,  and  Saucelito  were  plain- 
ly visible  over  a  restless  expanse  of  water  that 
changed  continually,  glittering  in  the  sunlight, 
darkening  in  rocky  shadow,  or  sweeping  in  mimic 
waves  on  a  miniature  beach  below. 

Although  at  first  the  bay-window  was  supposed 
to  be  sacred  to  myself  and  my  writing  materials, 
in  obedience  to  some  organic  law,  it  by  and  by 
became  a  general  lounging-place.  A  rocking-chair 
and  crochet  basket  one  day  found  their  way  there. 
Then  the  baby  invaded  its  recesses,  fortifying  him- 
self behind  intrenchments  of  colored  worsteds  and 
spools  of  cotton,  from  which  he  was  only  dislodged 


246       NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM. 

by  concerted  assault,  and  carried  lamenting  into 
captivity.  A  subtle  glamour  crept  over  all  who 
came  within  its  influence.  To  apply  one's  self  to 
serious  work  there  was  an  absurdity.  An  incom- 
ing ship,  a  gleam  on  the  water,  a  cloud  linger- 
ing about  Tamalpais,  were  enough  to  distract  the 
attention.  Eeading  or  writing,  the  bay-window 
was  always  showing  something  to  be  looked  at. 
Unfortunately,  these  views  were  not  always  pleas- 
ant, but  the  window  gave  equal  prominence  and 
importance  to  all,  without  respect  to  quality. 

The  landscape  in  the  vicinity  was  unimproved, 
but  not  rural.  The  adjacent  lots  had  apparently 
just  given  up  bearing  scrub-oaks,  but  had  not 
seriously  taken  to  bricks  and  mortar.  In  one 
direction  the  vista  was  closed  by  the  Home  of  the 
Inebriates,  not  in  itself  a  cheerful-looking  building, 
and,  as  the  apparent  terminus  of  a  ramble  in  a 
certain  direction,  having  all  the  effect  of  a  moral 
lesson.  To  a  certain  extent,  however,  this  building 
was  an  imposition.  The  enthusiastic  members  of 
my  family,  who  confidently  expected  to  see  its 
inmates  hilariously  disporting  themselves  at  its 
windows  in  the  different  stages  of  inebriation  por- 
trayed by  the  late  W.  E.  Burton,  were  much  disap- 
pointed. The  Home  was  reticent  of  its  secrets. 
The  County  Hospital,  also  in  range  of  the  bay- 
window,  showed  much  more  animation.  At 
certain  hours  of  the  day  convalescents  passed  in 


NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM.       247 

review  before  the  window  on  their  way  to  an  air- 
ing. This  spectacle  was  the  still  more  depressing 
from  a  singular  lack  of  sociability  that  appeared  to 
prevail  among  them.  Each  man  was  encompassed 
by  the  impenetrable  atmosphere  of  his  own  pecu- 
liar suffering.  They  did  not  talk  or  walk  together. 
From  the  window  I  have  seen  half  a  dozen  sunning 
themselves  against  a  wall  within  a  few  feet  of  each 
other,  to  all  appearance  utterly  oblivious  of  the 
fact.  Had  they  but  quarrelled  or  fought,  —  any- 
thing would  have  been  better  than  this  horrible 
apathy. 

The  lower  end  of  the  street  on  which  the  bay- 
window  was  situate,  opened  invitingly  from  a  pop- 
ular thoroughfare ;  and  after  beckoning  the  un- 
wary stranger  into  its  recesses,  ended  unexpectedly 
at  a  frightful  precipice.  On  Sundays,  when  the 
travel  North-Beach  wards  was  considerable,  the  bay- 
window  delighted  in  the  spectacle  afforded  by  un- 
happy pedestrians  who  were  seduced  into  taking 
this  street  as  a  short-cut  somewhere  else.  It  was 
amusing  to  notice  how  these  people  invariably,  on 
coming  to  the  precipice,  glanced  upward  to  the 
bay-window  and  endeavored  to  assume  a  careless 
air  before  they  retraced  their  steps,  whistling  os- 
tentatiously, as  if  they  had  previously  known  all 
about  it.  One  high-spirited  young  man  in  par- 
ticular, being  incited  thereto  by  a  pair  of  mis- 
chievous bright  eyes  in  an  opposite  window, 


248      NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM. 

actually  descended  this  fearful  precipice  rather 
than  return,  to  the  great  peril  of  life  and  limb,  and 
manifest  injury  to  his  Sunday  clothes. 

Dogs,  goats,  and  horses  constituted  the  fauna  of 
our  neighborhood.  Possessing  the  lawless  freedom 
of  their  normal  condition,  they  still  evinced  a  ten- 
der attachment  to  man  and  his  habitations.  Spir- 
ited steeds  got  up  extempore  races  on  the  sidewalks, 
turning  the  street  into  a  miniature  Corso ;  dogs 
wrangled  in  the  areas ;  while  from  the  hill  beside 
the  house  a  goat  browsed  peacefully  upon  my 
wife's  geraniums  in  the  flower-pots  of  the  second- 
story  window.  "We  had  a  fine  hail-storm  last 
night,"  remarked  a  newly  arrived  neighbor,  who 
had  just  moved  into  the  adjoining  house.  It 
would  have  been  a  pity  to  set  him  right,  as  he  was 
quite  enthusiastic  about  the  view  and  the  general 
sanitary  qualifications  of  the  locality.  So  I  did  n't 
tell  him  anything  about  the  goats  who  were  in  the 
habit  of  using  his  house  as  a  stepping-stone  to  the 
adjoining  hill 

But  the  locality  was  remarkably  healthy.  People 
who  fell  down  the  embankments  found  their  wounds 
heal  rapidly  in  the  steady  sea-breeze.  Ventilation 
was  complete  and  thorough.  The  opening  of  the 
bay-window  produced  a  current  of  wholesome  air 
which  effectually  removed  all  noxious  exhalations, 
together  with  the  curtains,  the  hinges  of  the  back 
door,  and  the  window-shutters.  Owing  to  this 


NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED   FROM.       249 

peculiarity,  some  of  my  writings  acquired  an  ex- 
tensive circulation  and  publicity  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, which  years  in  another  locality  might  not 
have  produced.  Several  articles  of  wearing  apparel, 
which  were  mysteriously  transposed  from  our 
clothes-line  to  that  of  an  humble  though  honest 
neighbor,  was  undoubtedly  the  result  of  these 
sanitary  winds.  Yet  in  spite  of  these  advantages 
I  found  it  convenient  in  a  few  months  to  move. 
And  the  result  whereof  I  shall  communicate  in 
other  papers. 


II. 


"A  HOUSE  with  a  fine  garden  and  extensive 
shrubbery,  in  a  genteel  neighborhood,"  were,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  the  general  terms  of  an  adver- 
tisement which  once  decided  my  choice  of  a  dwell- 
ing. I  should  add  that  this  occurred  at  an  early 
stage  of  my  household  experience,  when  I  placed 
a  trustful  reliance  in  advertisements.  I  have 
since  learned  that  the  most  truthful  people  are 
apt  to  indulge  a  slight  vein  of  exaggeration  in 
describing  their  own  possessions,  as  though  the 
mere  circumstance  of  going  into  print  were  an 
excuse  for  a  certain  kind  of  mendacity.  But  I  did 
not  fully  awaken  to  this  fact  until  a  much  later 
period,  when,  in  answering  an  advertisement  which 
described  a  highly  advantageous  tenement,  I  was 


250       NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED   FROM. 

referred  to  the  house  I  then  occupied,  and  from 
which  a  thousand  inconveniences  were  impelling 
me  to  move. 

The  "  fine  garden  "  alluded  to  was  not  large,  but 
contained  several  peculiarly  shaped  flower-beds.  I 
was  at  first  struck  with  the  singular  resemblance 
which  they  bore  to  the  mutton-chops  that  are 
usually  brought  on  the  table  at  hotels  and  res- 
taurants, —  a  resemblance  the  more  striking  from 
the  sprigs  of  parsley  which  they  produced  freely. 
One  plat  in  particular  reminded  me,  not  unpleas- 
antly, of  a  peculiar  cake,  known  to  my  boyhood  as 
"  a  bolivar."  The  owner  of  the  property,  however, 
who  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  original  aesthetic  ideas, 
had  banked  up  one  of  these  beds  with  bright- 
colored  sea-shells,  so  that  in  rainy  weather  it  sug- 
gested an  aquarium,  and  offered  the  elements  of 
botanical  and  conchological  study  in  pleasing  jux- 
taposition. I  have  since  thought  that  the  fish- 
geraniums,  which  it  also  bore  to  a  surprising  ex- 
tent, were  introduced  originally  from  some  such 
idea  of  consistency.  But  it  was  very  pleasant, 
after  dinner,  to  ramble  up  and  down  the  gravelly 
paths  (whose  occasional  boulders  reminded  me  of 
the  dry  bed  of  a  somewhat  circuitous  mining 
stream),  smoking  a  cigar,  or  inhaling  the  rich 
aroma  of  fennel,  or  occasionally  stopping  to  pluck 
one  of  the  hollyhocks  with  which  the  garden 
abounded.  The  prolific  qualities  of  this  plant 


NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM.      251 

alarmed  us  greatly,  for  although,  in  the  first  trans- 
port of  enthusiasm,  my  wife  planted  several  differ- 
ent kinds  of  flower-seeds,  nothing  ever  came  up 
but  hollyhocks ;  and  although,  impelled  by  the 
same  Jaudable  impulse,  I  procured  a  copy  of 
"Downing's  Landscape  Gardening,"  and  a  few 
gardening  tools,  and  worked  for  several  hours  in 
the  garden,  my  efforts  were  equally  futile. 

The  "  extensive  shrubbery  "  consisted  of  several 
dwarfed  trees.  One  was  a  very  weak  young  weep- 
ing willow,  so  very  limp  and  maudlin,  and  so  evi- 
dently bent  on  establishing  its  reputation,  that  it 
had  to  be  tied  up  against  the  house  for  support. 
The  dampness  of  that  portion  of  the  house  was 
usually  attributed  to  the  presence  of  this  lachry- 
mose shrub.  And  to  these  a  couple  of  highly  ob- 
jectionable trees,  known,  I  think,  by  the  name  of 
Malva,  which  made  an  inordinate  show  of  cheap 
blossoms  that  they  were  continually  shedding,  and 
one  or  two  dwarf  oaks,  with  scaly  leaves  and  a 
generally  spiteful  exterior,  and  you  have  what 
was  not  inaptly  termed  by  our  Milesian  handmaid 
"the  scrubbery." 

The  gentility  of  our  neighbor  suffered  a  blight 
from  the  unwholesome  vicinity  of  McGinnis  Court. 
This  court  was  a  kind  of  cul  de  sac  that,  on  being 
penetrated,  discovered  a  primitive  people  living  in 
a  state  of  barbarous  freedom,  and  apparently  spend- 
ing the  greater  portion  of  their  lives  on  their  own 


252      NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM. 

door-steps.  Many  of  those  details  of  the  toilet 
which  a  popular  prejudice  restricts  to  the  dressing- 
room  in  other  localities,  were  here  performed  in 
the  open  court  without  fear  and  without  reproach. 
Early  in  the  week  the  court  was  hid  in  a  choking, 
soapy  mist,  which  arose  from  innumerable  wash- 
tubs.  This  was  followed  in  a  day  or  two  later  by 
an  extraordinary  exhibition  of  wearing  apparel  of 
divers  colors,  fluttering  on  lines  like  a  display  of 
bunting  on  ship-board,  and  whose  flapping  in  the 
breeze  was  like  irregular  discharges  of  musketry. 
It  was  evident  also  that  the  court  exercised  a  de- 
moralizing influence  over  the  whole  neighborhood. 
A  sanguine  property-owner  once  put  up  a  hand- 
some dwelling  on  the  corner  of  our  street,  and  lived 
therein ;  but  although  he  appeared  frequently  on 
his  balcony,  clad  in  a  bright  crimson  dressing-gown, 
which  made  him  look  like  a  tropical  bird  of  some 
rare  and  gorgeous  species,  he  failed  to  woo  any 
kindred  dressing-gown  to  the  vicinity,  and  only 
provoked  opprobrious  epithets  from  the  gamins  of 
the  court.  He  moved  away  shortly  after,  and  on 
going  by  the  house  one  day,  I  noticed  a  bill  of 
"  Rooms  to  let,  with  board,"  posted  conspicuously 
on  the  Corinthian  columns  of  the  porch.  McGin- 
nis  Court  had  triumphed.  An  interchange  of  civil- 
ities at  once  took  place  between  the  court  and  the 
servants'  area  of  the  palatial  mansion,  and  some 
of  the  young  men  boarders  exchange  playful  slang 


NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED   FROM.       253 

with  the  adolescent  members  of  the  court.  From 
that  moment  we  felt  that  our  claims  to  gentility 
were  forever  abandoned. 

Yet,  we  enjoyed  intervals  of  unalloyed  content- 
ment. When  the  twilight  toned  down  the  hard 
outlines  of  the  oaks,  and  made  shadowy  clumps 
and  formless  masses  of  other  bushes,  it  was  quite 
romantic  to  sit  by  the  window  and  inhale  the  faint, 
sad  odor  of  the  fennel  in  the  walks  below.  Per- 
haps this  economical  pleasure  was  much  enhanced 
by  a  picture  in  my  memory,  whose  faded  colors  the 
odor  of  this  humble  plant  never  failed  to  restore. 
So  I  often  sat  there  of  evenings  and  closed  my  eyes 
until  the  forms  and  benches  of  a  country  school- 
room came  back  to  me,  redolent  with  the  incense 
of  fennel  covertly  stowed  away  in  my  desk,  and 
gazed  again  in  silent  rapture  on  the  round,  red 
cheeks  and  long  black  braids  of  that  peerless  crea- 
ture whose  glance  had  often  caused  my  cheeks  to 
glow  over  the  preternatural  collar,  which  at  that 
period  of  my  boyhood  it  was  my  pride  and  privilege 
to  wear.  As  I  fear  I  may  be  often  thought  hyper- 
critical and  censorious  in  these  articles,  I  am  will- 
ing to  record  this  as  one  of  the 'advantages  of  ou* 
new  house,  not  mentioned  in  the  advertisement, 
nor  chargeable  in  the  rent.  May  the  present  ten- 
ant, who  is  a  stock-broker,  and  who  impresses  me 
with  the  idea  of  having  always  been  called  "  Mr." 
from  his  cradle  up,  enjoy  this  advantage,  and  try 
sometimes  to  remember  he  was  a  boy  ! 


254      NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM. 


m. 


SOON  after  I  moved  into  Happy  Valley  I  was 
struck  with  the  remarkable  infelicity  of  its  title. 
Generous  as  Calif ornians  are  in  the  use  of  adjec- 
tives, this  passed  into  the  domain  of  irony.  But  I 
was  inclined  to  think  it  sincere,  —  the  production 
of  a  weak  but  gushing  mind,  just  as  the  feminine 
nomenclature  of  streets  in  the  vicinity  was  evident- 
ly bestowed  by  one  in  habitual  communion  with 
"Friendship's  Gifts"  and  " Affection's  Offerings." 

Our  house  on  Laura  Matilda  Street  looked  some- 
what like  a  toy  Swiss  Cottage,  —  a  style  of  archi- 
tecture so  prevalent,  that  in  walking  down  the 
block  it  was  quite  difficult  to  resist  an  impression 
of  fresh  glue  and  pine  shavings.  The  few  shade- 
trees  might  have  belonged  originally  to  those  oval 
Christmas  boxes  which  contain  toy  villages ;  and 
even  the  people  who  sat  by  the  windows  had  a 
stiffness  that  made  them  appear  surprisingly  unreal 
and  artificial.  A  little  dog  belonging  to  a  neighbor 
was  known  to  the  members  of  my  household  by 
the  name  of  "  Glass,"  from  the  general  suggestion 
he  gave  of  having  been  spun  of  that  article.  Per- 
haps I  have  somewhat  exaggerated  these  illustra- 
tions of  the  dapper  nicety  of  our  neighborhood,  — 
a  neatness  and  conciseness  which  I  think  have  a 
general  tendency  to  belittle,  dwarf,  and  contract 


NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED   FROM.      255 

their  objects.  For  we  gradually  fell  into  small 
ways  and  narrow  ideas,  and  to  some  extent  squared 
the  round  world  outside  to  the  correct  angles  of 
Laura  Matilda  Street. 

One  reason  for  this  insincere  quality  may  have 
been  the  fact  that  the  very  foundations  of  our 
neighborhood  were  artificial.  Laura  Matilda  Street 
was  "  made  ground."  The  land,  not  yet  quite 
reclaimed,  was  continually  struggling  with  its  old 
enemy.  We  had  not  been  long  in  our  new  home 
before  we  found  an  older  tenant,  not  yet  wholly 
divested  of  his  rights,  who  sometimes  showed  him- 
self in  clammy  perspiration  on  the  basement  walls, 
whose  damp  breath  chilled  our  dining-room,  and  in 
the  night  struck  a  mortal  chilliness  through  the 
house.  There  were  no  patent  fastenings  that 
could  keep  him  out,  —  no  writ  of  unlawful  detain- 
er that  could  eject  him.  In  the  winter  his  pres- 
ence was  quite  palpable ;  he  sapped  the  roots  of 
the  trees,  he  gurgled  under  the  kitchen  floor,  he 
wrought  an  unwholesome  greenness  on  the  side  of 
the  veranda.  In  summer  he  became  invisible,  but 
still  exercised  a  familiar  influence  over  the  locality. 
He  planted  little  stitches  in  the  small  of  the  back, 
sought  out  old  aches  and  weak  joints,  and  spor- 
tively punched  the  tenants  of  the  Swiss  Cottage 
under  the  ribs.  He  inveigled  little  children  to 
play  with  him,  but  his  plays  generally  ended  in 
scarlet  fever,  diphtheria,  whooping-cough,  and  mea- 


256      NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM. 

sles.  He  sometimes  followed  strong  men  abotit 
until  they  sickened  suddenly  and  took  to  their 
beds.  But  he  kept  the  green-plants  in  good  order, 
and  was  very  fond  of  verdure,  bestowing  it  even 
upon  lath  and  plaster  and  soulless  stone.  He  was 
generally  invisible,  as  I  have  said  ;  but  some  time 
after  I  had  moved,  I  saw  him  one  morning  from  the 
hill  stretching  his  gray  wings  over  the  valley,  like 
some  fabulous  vampire,  who  had  spent  the  night 
sucking  the  wholesome  juices  of  the  sleepers  below, 
and  was  sluggish  from  the  effects  of  his  repast.  It 
was  then  that  I  recognized  him  as  Malaria,  and 
knew  his  abode  to  be  the  dread  Valley  of  the  shadow 
of  Miasma,  —  miscalled  the  Happy  Valley ! 

On  week  days  there  was  a  pleasant  melody  of 
boiler-making  from  the  foundries,  and  the  gas 
works  in  the  vicinity  sometimes  lent  a  mild  per- 
fume to  the  breeze.  Our  street  was  usually  quiet, 
however,  —  a  footfall  being  sufficient  to  draw  the 
inhabitants  to  their  front  windows,  and  to  oblige 
an  incautious  trespasser  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  bat- 
teries of  blue  and  black  eyes  on  either  side  of  the 
way.  A  carriage  passing  through  it  communicated 
a  singular  thrill  to  the  floors,  and  caused  the  china 
on  the  dining-table  to  rattle.  Although  we  were 
comparatively  free  from  the  prevailing  winds, 
wandering  gusts  sometimes  got  bewildered  and 
strayed  unconsciously  into  our  street,  and  finding 
an  unencumbered  field,  incontinently  set  up  a 


NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM.       257 

shriek  of  joy,  and  went  gleefully  to  work  on  the 
clothes-lines  and  chimney-pots,  and  had  a  good 
time  generally  until  they  were  quite  exhausted.  I 
have  a  very  vivid  picture  in  my  memory  of  an 
organ-grinder  who  was  at  one  time  blown  into  the 
end  of  our  street,  and  actually  blown  through  it 
in  spite  of  several  ineffectual  efforts  to  come  to  a 
stand  before  the  different  dwellings,  but  who  was 
finally  whirled  out  of  the  other  extremity,  still 
playing  and  vainly  endeavoring  to  pursue  his 
unhallowed  calling.  But  these  were  noteworthy 
exceptions  to  the  calm  and  even  tenor  of  our  life. 

There  was  contiguity  but  not  much  sociability 
in  our  neighborhood.  From  my  bedroom  window 
I  could  plainly  distinguish  the  peculiar  kind  of 
victuals  spread  on  my  neighbor's  dining-table ; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  he  obtained  an  equally 
uninterrupted  view  of  the  mysteries  of  my  toilet. 
Still,  that  "  low  vice,  curiosity,"  was  regulated  by 
certain  laws,  and  a  kind  of  rude  chivalry  invested 
our  observation.  A  pretty  girl,  whose  bedroom 
window  was  the  cynosure  of  neighboring  eyes, 
was  once  brought  under  the  focus  of  an  opera-glass 
in  the  hands  of  one  of  our  ingenuous  youth ;  but  this 
act  met  such  prompt  and  universal  condemnation, 
as  an  unmanly  advantage,  from  the  lips  of  married 
men  and  bachelors  who  did  n't  own  opera-glasses, 
that  it  was  never  repeated. 

With  this  brief  sketch  I  conclude  my  record  of 


258   NEIGHBORHOODS  I  HAVE  MOVED  FROM. 

the  neighborhoods  I  have  moved  from.  I  have 
moved  from  many  others  since  then,  but  they 
have  generally  presented  features  not  dissimilar  to 
the  three  I  have  endeavored  to  describe  in  these 
pages.  I  offer  them  as  types  containing  the  sa- 
lient peculiarities  of  all  Let  no  inconsiderate 
reader  rashly  move  on  account  of  them.  My 
experience  has  not  been  cheaply  bought.  From 
the  nettle  Change  I  have  tried  to  pluck  the  flower 
Security.  Draymen  have  grown  rich  at  my  ex- 
pense. House-agents  have  known  me  and  were  glad, 
and  landlords  have  risen  up  to  meet  me  from  afar. 
The  force  of  habit  impels  me  still  to  consult  all 
the  bills  I  see  in  the  streets,  nor  can  the  war  tele- 
grams divert  my  first  attention  from  the  advertising 
columns  of  the  daily  papers.  I  repeat,  let  no  man 
think  I  have  disclosed  the  weaknesses  of  the 
neighborhood,  nor  rashly  open  that  closet  which 
contains  the  secret  skeleton  of  his  dwelling.  My 
carpets  have  been  altered  to  fit  all  sized  odd- 
shaped  apartments  from  parallelepiped  to  hexa- 
gons. Much  of  my  furniture  has  been  distributed 
among  my  former  dwellings.  These  limbs  have 
Btretched  upon  uncarpeted  floors,  or  have  been  let 
down  suddenly  from  imperfectly  established  bed- 
steads. I  have  dined  in  the  parlor  and  slept  in 
the  back  kitchen.  Yet  the  result  of  these  sacri- 
fices and  trials  may  be  briefly  summed  up  in  the 
statement  that  I  am  now  on  the  eve  of  removal 
from  my  PRESENT  NEIGHBORHOOD. 


MY  SUBUKBAN  EESIDENCE. 

I  LIVE  in  the  suburbs.  My  residence,  to  quote 
the  pleasing  fiction  of  the  advertisement,  "  is 
within  fifteen  minutes'  walk  of  the  City  Hall." 
Why  the  City  Hall  should  be  considered  as  an 
eligible  terminus  of  anybody's  walk,  under  any 
circumstances,  I  have  not  been  able  to  determine. 
Never  having  walked  from  my  residence  to  that 
place,  I  am  unable  to  verify  the  assertion,  though 
I  may  state  as  a  purely  abstract  and  separate  prop- 
osition, that  it  takes  me  the  better  part  of  an  hour 
to  reach  Montgomery  Street. 

My  selection  of  locality  was  a  compromise  be- 
tween my  wife's  desire  to  go  into  the  country,  and 
my  own  predilections  for  civic  habitation.  Like 
most  compromises,  it  ended  in  retaining  the  objec- 
tionable features  of  both  propositions  ;  I  procured 
the  inconveniences  of  the  country  without  losing 
the  discomforts  of  the  city.  I  increased  my  dis- 
tance from  the  butcher  and  green-grocer,  without 
approxinLdting  to  herds  and  kitchen-gardens.  But 
I  anticipate. 

Fresh  air  was  to  be  the  principal  thing  sought 
for.  That  there  might  be  too  much  of  this  did 


260  MY   SUBURBAN  RESIDENCE. 

not  enter  into  my  calculations.  The  first  day  I 
entered  my  residence,  it  blew ;  the  second  day  was 
windy  ;  the  third,  fresh,  with  a  strong  breeze  stir- 
ring ;  on  the  fourth,  it  blew ;  on  the  fifth,  there 
was  a  gale,  which  has  continued  to  the  present 
writing. 

That  the  air  is  fresh,  the  above  statement  suffi> 
ciently  establishes.  That  it  is  bracing,  I  argue 
from  the  fact  that  I  find  it  impossible  to  open  the 
shutters  on  the  windward  side  of  the  house.  That 
it  is  healthy,  I  am  also  convinced,  believing  that 
there  is  no  other  force  in  Nature  that  could  so 
buffet  and  ill-use  a  person  without  serious  injury 
to  him.  Let  me  offer  an  instance.  The  path  to 
my  door  crosses  a  slight  eminence.  The  uncon- 
scious visitor,  a  little  exhausted  by  the  ascent  and 
the  general  effects  of  the  gentle  gales  which  he 
has  faced  in  approaching  my  hospitable  mansion, 
relaxes  his  efforts,  smooths  his  brow,  and  ap- 
proaches with  a  fascinating  smile.  Eash  and  too 
confident  man !  The  wind  delivers  a  succession  of 
rapid  blows,  and  he  is  thrown  back.  He  staggers 
up  again,  in  the  language  of  the  P.  R,  "smiling 
and  confident/'  The  wind  now  makes  for  a  vul- 
nerable point,  and  gets  his  hat  in  chancery.  All 
ceremony  is  now  thrown  away ;  the  luckless  wretch 
seizes  his  hat  with  both  hands,  and  charges  madly 
at  the  front  door.  Inch  by  inch,  the  wind  con- 
tests the  ground;  another  struggle,  and  he  stands 


MY  SUBURBAN  RESIDENCE.  261 

upon  the  veranda.  On  such  occasions  I  make  it 
a  point  to  open  the  door  myself,  with  a  calmness 
and  serenity  that  shall  offer  a  marked  contrast  to 
his  feverish  and  excited  air,  and  shall  throw  sus- 
picion of  inebriety  upon  him.  If  he  be  inclined 
to  timidity  and  bashfulness,  during  the  best  of  the 
evening  he  is  all  too  conscious  of  the  disarrange- 
ment of  his  hair  and  cravat.  If  he  is  less  sensi- 
tive, the  result  is  often  more  distressing.  A  valued 
elderly  friend  once  called  upon  me  after  undergo- 
ing a  twofold  struggle  with  the  wind  and  a  large 
Newfoundland  dog  (which  I  keep  for  reasons  here- 
inafter stated),  and  not  only  his  hat,  but  his  wig, 
had  suffered.  He  spent  the  evening  with  me, 
totally  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  his  hair  pre- 
sented the  singular  spectacle  of  having  been  parted 
diagonally  from  the  right  temple  to  the  left  ear. 
When  ladies  called,  my  wife  preferred  to  receive 
them.  They  were  generally  hysterical,  and  often 
in  tears.  I  remember,  one  Sunday,  to  have  been 
startled  by  what  appeared  to  be  the  balloon  from 
Hayes  Valley  drifting  rapidly  past  my  conserva- 
tory, closely  followed  by  the  Newfoundland  dog. 
I  rushed  to  the  front  door,  but  was  anticipated  by 
my  wife.  A  strange  lady  appeared  at  lunch,  but 
the  phenomenon  remained  otherwise  unaccounted 
for.  Egress  from  my  residence  is  much  more  easy. 
My  guests  seldom  "  stand  upon  the  order  of  their 
going,  but  go  at  once";  the  Newfoundland  dog 


262  MY  SUBURBAN  RESIDENCE. 

playfully  harassing  their  rear.  I  was  standing  one 
day,  with  my  hand  on  the  open  hall  door,  in  seri- 
ous conversation  with  the  minister  of  the  parish, 
when  the  back  door  was  cautiously  opened.  The 
watchful  breeze  seized  the  opportunity,  and  charged 
through  the  defenceless  passage.  The  front  door 
closed  violently  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  pre- 
cipitating the  reverend  gentleman  into  the  garden. 
The  Newfoundland  dog,  with  that  sagacity  for 
which  his  race  is  so  distinguished,  at  once  con- 
cluded that  a  personal  collision  had  taken  place 
between  myself  and  visitor,  and  flew  to  my  de- 
fence. The  reverend  gentleman  never  called  again. 
The  Newfoundland  dog  above  alluded  to  was 
part  of  a  system  of  protection  which  my  suburban 
home  once  required.  Eobberies  were  frequent  in 
the  neighborhood,  and  my  only  fowl  fell  a  victim 
to  the  spoiler's  art.  One  night  I  awoke,  and  found 
a  man  in  my  room.  With  singular  delicacy  and 
respect  for  the  feelings  of  others,  he  had  been  care- 
ful not  to  awaken  any  of  the  sleepers,  and  retired 
upon  my  rising,  without  waiting  for  any  suggestion. 
Touched  by  his  delicacy,  I  forbore  giving  the  alarm 
until  after  he  had  made  good  his  retreat.  I  then 
wanted  to  go  after  a  policeman,  but  my  wife  re- 
monstrated, as  this  would  leave  the  house  exposed. 
Eemembering  the  gentlemanly  conduct  of  the  bur- 
glar, I  suggested  the  plan  of  following  him  and 
requesting  him  to  give  the  alarm  as  he  went  in 


MY   SUBURBAN  RESIDENCE.  263 

town.  But  this  proposition  was  received  with 
equal  disfavor.  The  next  day  I  procured  a  dog 
and  a  revolver.  The  former  went  off,  but  the  lat- 
ter would  n't.  I  then  got  a  new  dog  and  chained 
him,  and  a  duelling  pistol,  with  a  hair-trigger. 
The  result  was  so  far  satisfactory  that  neither 
could  be  approached  with  safety,  and  for  some 
time  I  left  them  out,  indifferently,  during  the 
night.  But  the  chain  one  day  gave  way,  and  the 
dog,  evidently  having  no  other  attachment  to  the 
house,  took  the  opportunity  to  leave.  His  place 
was  soon  filled  by  the  Newfoundland,  whose  fidel- 
ity and  sagacity  I  have  just  recorded. 

Space  is  one  of  the  desirable  features  of  my 
suburban  residence.  I  do  not  know  the  number 
of  acres  the  grounds  contain  except  from  the  inor- 
dinate quantity  of  hose  required  for  irrigating.  I 
perform  daily,  like  some  gentle  shepherd,  upon  a 
quarter-inch  pipe  without  any  visible  result,  and 
have  had  serious  thoughts  of  contracting  with  some 
disbanded  fire  company  for  their  hose  and  equip- 
ments. It  is  quite  a  walk  to  the  wood-house. 
Every  day  some  new  feature  of  the  grounds  is  dis- 
covered. My  youngest  boy  was  one  day  missing 
for  several  hours.  His  head — a  peculiarly  venerable 
and  striking  object  —  was  at  last  discovered  just 
above  the  grass  at  some  distance  from  the  house. 
On  examination  he  was  found  comfortably  seated  in 
a  disused  drain,  in  company  with  a  silver  spoon  and 


264  MY   SUBURBAN   RESIDENCE. 

a  dead  rat.     On  being  removed  from  this  locality 
he  howled  dismally  and  refused  to  be  comforted. 

The  view  from  my  suburban  residence  is  fine. 
Lone  Mountain,  with  its  white  obelisks,  is  a  sug- 
gestive if  not  cheering  termination  of  the  vista  in 
one  direction,  while  the  old  receiving  vault  of 
Yerba  Buena  Cemetery  limits  the  view  in  another. 
Most  of  the  funerals  which  take  place  pass  my 
house.  My  children,  with  the  charming  imitative- 
ness  that  belongs  to  youth,  have  caught  the  spirit  of 
these  passing  corteges,  and  reproduce  in  the  back 
yard,  with  creditable  skill,  the  salient  features  of 
the  lugubrious  procession.  A  doll,  from  whose 
features  all  traces  of  vitality  and  expression  have 
been  removed,  represents  the  deceased.  Yet  un- 
fortunately I  have  been  obliged  to  promise  them 
more  active  participation  in  this  ceremony  at  some 
future  time,  and  I  fear  that  they  look  anxiously 
forward  with  the  glowing  impatience  of  youth  to  the 
speedy  removal  of  some  one  of  my  circle  of  friends. 
I  am  told  that  the  eldest,  with  the  unsophisticated 
frankness  that  belongs  to  his  age,  made  a  personal 
request  to  that  effect  to  one  of  my  acquaintances 
One  singular  result  of  the  frequency  of  these 
funerals  is  the  development  of  a  critical  and  fas- 
tidious taste  in  such  matters  on  the  part  of  myself 
and  family.  If  I  may  so  express  myself,  without 
irreverence,  we  seldom  turn  out  for  anything  less 
than  six  carriages.  Any  number  over  this  is 


MY   SUBURBAN  RESIDENCE.  265 

usually   breathlessly    announced    by   Bridget   as, 
"  Here  's  another,  mum,  —  and  a  good  long  one." 

With  these  slight  drawbacks  my  suburban  res- 
idence is  charming.  To  the  serious  poet,  and 
writer  of  elegiac  verses,  the  aspect  of  Nature, 
viewed  from  my  veranda,  is  suggestive.  I  my- 
self have  experienced  moments  when  the  "sad 
mechanic  exercise "  of  verse  would  have  been  of 
infinite  relief.  The  following  stanzas,  by  a  young 
friend  who  has  been  stopping  with  me  for  the 
benefit  of  his  health,  addressed  to  a  duck  that  fre- 
quented a  small  pond  in  the  vicinity  of  my  man- 
sion, may  be  worthy  of  perusal.  I  think  I  have 
met  the  idea  conveyed  in  the  first  verse  in  some 
of  Hood's  prose,  but  as  my  friend  assures  me 
that  Hood  was  too  conscientious  to  appropriate 
anything  not  his  own,  I  conclude  I  am  mis- 
taken. 


LINES  TO  A  WATER-FOWL. 
(Intra  Muros.) 


FOWL,  that  sing'st  in  yonder  pool, 
Where  the  summer  winds  blow  cool, 
Are  there  hydropathic  cures 
For  the  ills  that  man  endures  ? 
Know'st  thou  Priessnitz  ?    What  ?  alack 
Hast  no  other  word  but  "  Quack  ?" 


266  MY   SUBURBAN  RESIDENCE. 

II. 

Cleopatra's  barge  might  pale 
To  the  splendors  of  thy  tail, 
Or  the  stately  caravel 
Of  some  "  high-pooped  admiral." 
Never  yet  left  such  a  wake 
E'en  the  navigator  Drake  1 

in. 

Dux  thou  art,  and  leader,  too, 
Heeding  not  what 's  "  falling  due," 
Knowing  not  of  debt  or  dun,  — 
Thou  dost  heed  no  bill  but  one  ; 
And,  though  scarce  conceivable, 
That 's  a  bill  Receivable, 
Made  —  that  thou  thy  stars  mightst  thank  < 
Payable  at  the  next  bank. 


ON  A  YULGAE  LITTLE  BOY. 

THE  subject  of  this  article  is  at  present  lean- 
ing against  a  tree  directly  opposite  to  my 
window.  He  wears  his  cap  with  the  wrong  side  be- 
fore, apparently  for  no  other  object  than  that  which 
seems  the  most  obvious, —  of  showing  more  than  the 
average  quantity  of  very  dirty  face.  His  clothes, 
which  are  worn  with  a  certain  buttonless  ease  and 
freedom,  display,  in  the  different  quality  of  their 
fruit-stains,  a  pleasing  indication  of  the  progress  of 
the  seasons.  The  nose  of  this  vulgar  little  boy 
turns  up  at  the  end.  I  have  noticed  this  in  several 
other  vulgar  little  boys,  although  it  is  by  no  means 
improbable  that  youthful  vulgarity  may  be  present 
without  this  facial  peculiarity.  Indeed,  I  am 
inclined  to  the  belief  that  it  is  rather  the  result  of 
early  inquisitiveness  —  of  furtive  pressures  against 
window-panes,  and  of  looking  over  fences,  or  of 
the  habit  of  biting  large  apples  hastily  —  than  an 
indication  of  scorn  or  juvenile  superciliousness. 
The  vulgar  little  boy  is  more  remarkable  for  his 
obtrusive  familiarity.  It  is  my  experience  of  his 
predisposition  to  this  quality  which  has  induced 
me  to  write  this  article. 


268  ON  A  VULGAR  LITTLE   BOY. 

My  acquaintance  with  him  began  in  a  moment 
of  weakness.  I  have  an  unfortunate  predilection 
to  cultivate  originality  in  people,  even  when  ac- 
companied by  objectionable  character.  But,  as  I 
lack  the  firmness  and  skilfulness  which  usually 
accompany  this  taste  in  others,  and  enable  them 
to  drop  acquaintances  when  troublesome,  I  have 
surrounded  myself  with  divers  unprofitable  friends, 
among  whom  I  count  the  vulgar  little  boy.  The 
manner  in  which  he  first  attracted  my  attention 
was  purely  accidental.  He  was  playing  in  the 
street,  and  the  driver  of  a  passing  vehicle  cut  at 
him,  sportively,  with  his  whip.  The  vulgar  little 
boy  rose  to  his  feet  and  hurled  after  his  tormentor 
a  single  sentence  of  invective.  I  refrain  from  re- 
peating it,  for  I  feel  that  I  could  not  do  justice  to 
it  here.  If  I  remember  rightly,  it  conveyed,  in 
a  very  few  words,  a  reflection  on  the  legitimacy 
of  the  driver's  birth ;  it  hinted  a  suspicion  of  his 
father's  integrity,  and  impugned  the  fair  fame  of 
his  mother ;  it  suggested  incompetency  in  his  pres- 
ent position,  personal  uncleanliness,  and  evinced 
a  sceptical  doubt  of  his  future  salvation.  As  his 
youthful  lips  closed  over  the  last  syllable,  the 
eyes  of  the  vulgar  little  boy  met  mine.  Some- 
thing in  my  look  emboldened  him  to  wink.  I  did 
not  repel  the  action  nor  the  complicity  it  implied. 
From  that  moment  I  fell  into  the  power  of  the 
vulgar  little  boy,  and  he  has  never  left  me  since. 


ON  A  VULGAR  LITTLE  BOY.  269 

He  haunts  me  in  the  streets  and  by-ways.  He 
accosts  me,  when  in  the  company  of  friends,  with 
repulsive  freedom.  He  lingers  about  the  gate  of 
my  dwelling  to  waylay  me  as  I  issue  forth  to 
business.  Distance  he  overcomes  by  main  strength 
of  lungs,  and  he  hails  me  from  the  next  street. 
He  met  me  at  the  theatre  the  other  evening,  and 
demanded  my  check  with  the  air  of  a  young  foot- 
pad. I  foolishly  gave  it  to  him,  but  re-entering 
some  time  after,  and  comfortably  seating  myself 
in  the  parquet,  I  was  electrified  by  hearing  my 
name  called  from  the  gallery  with  the  addition  of 
a  playful  adjective.  It  was  the  vulgar  little  boy. 
During  the  performance  he  projected  spirally- 
twisted  playbills  in  my  direction,  and  indulged  in 
a  running  commentary  on  the  supernumeraries  as 
they  entered. 

To-day  has  evidently  been  a  dull  one  with  him. 
I  observe  he  whistles  the  popular  airs  of  the  period 
with  less  shrillness  and  intensity.  Providence, 
however,  looks  not  unkindly  on  him,  and  delivers 
into  his  hands  as  it  were  two  nice  little  boys  who 
have  at  this  moment  innocently  strayed  into  our 
street.  They  are  pink  and  white  children,  and  are 
dressed  alike,  and  exhibit  a  certain  air  of  neatness 
and  refinement  which  is  alone  sufficient  to  awaken 
the  antagonism  of  the  vulgar  little  boy.  A  sigh 
of  satisfaction  breaks  from  his  breast.  What  does 
he  do?  Any  other  boy  would  content  himself 


270  ON  A  VULGAR   LITTLE   BOY. 

with  simply  knocking  the  hats  off  their  respective 
heads,  and  so  vent  his  superfluous  vitality  in  a 
single  act,  besides  precipitating  the  flight  of  the 
enemy.  But  there  are  aesthetic  considerations  not 
to  be  overlooked ;  insult  is  to  be  added  to  the  in- 
jury inflicted,  and  in  the  struggles  of  the  victim 
some  justification  is  to  be  sought  for  extreme 
measures.  The  two  nice  little  boys  perceive  their 
danger  and  draw  closer  to  each  other.  The  vulgar 
little  boy  begins  by  irony.  He  affects  to  be  over- 
powered by  the  magnificence  of  their  costume.  He 
addresses  me  (across  the  street  and  through  the 
closed  window),  and  requests  information  if  there 
haply  be  a  circus  in  the  vicinity.  He  makes  affec- 
tionate inquiries  after  the  health  of  their  parents. 
He  expresses  a  fear  of  maternal  anxiety  in  regard 
to  their  welfare.  He  offers  to  conduct  them  home. 
One  nice  little  boy  feebly  retorts ;  but  alas !  his 
correct  pronunciation,  his  grammatical  exactitude, 
and  his  moderate  epithets  only  provoke  a  scream 
of  derision  from  the  vulgar  little  boy,  who  now 
rapidly  changes  his  tactics.  Staggering  under  the 
weight  of  his  vituperation,  they  fall  easy  victims 
to  what  he  would  call  his  "  dexter  mawley."  A 
wail  of  lamentation  goes  up  from  our  street.  But 
as  the  subject  of  this  article  seems  to  require  a 
more  vigorous  handling  than  I  had  purposed  to 
give  it,  I  find  it  necessary  to  abandon  my  present 
dignified  position,  seize  my  hat,  open  the  front 
door,  and  try  a  stronger  method. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  SHIP. 

A  FORT  POINT  IDYL. 

ABOUT  an  hour's  ride  from  the  Plaza  there  is 
a  high  bluff  with  the  ocean  breaking  unin- 
terruptedly along  its  rocky  beach.  There  are  sev- 
eral cottages  on  the  sands,  which  look  as  if  they 
had  recently  been  cast  up  by  a  heavy  sea.  The 
cultivated  patch  behind  each  tenement  is  fenced 
in  by  bamboos,  broken  spars,  and  driftwood.  With 
its  few  green  cabbages  and  turnip-tops,  each  gar- 
den looks  something  like  an  aquarium  with  the 
water  turned  off.  In  fact  you  would  not  be  sur- 
prised to  meet  a  merman  digging  among  the  pota- 
toes, or  a  mermaid  milking  a  sea  cow  hard  by. 

Near  this  place  formerly  arose  a  great  semaphoric 
telegraph  with  its  gaunt  arms  tossed  up  against  the 
horizon.  It  has  been  replaced  by  an  observatory, 
connected  with  an  electric  nerve  to  the  heart  of 
the  great  commercial  city.  From  this  point  the 
incoming  ships  are  signalled,  and  again  checked  off 
at  the  City  Exchange.  And  while  we  are  here 
looking  for  the  expected  steamer,  let  me  tell  you 
a  story. 

Not  long  ago,  a  simple,  hard-working  mechanic 


272  WAITING  FOB   THE   SHIP. 

had  amassed  sufficient  by  diligent  labor  in  the 
mines  to  send  home  for  his  wife  and  two  children. 
He  arrived  in  San  Francisco  a  month  before  the 
time  the  ship  was  due,  for  he  was  a  western  man, 
and  had  made  the  overland  journey  and  knew 
little  of  ships  or  seas  or  gales.  He  procured  work 
in  the  city,  but  as  the  time  approached  he  would 
go  to  the  shipping  office  regularly  every  day.  The 
month  passed,  but  the  ship  came  not ;  then  a  month 
and  a  week,  two  weeks,  three  weeks,  two  months, 
and  then  a  year. 

The  rough,  patient  face,  with  soft  lines  over- 
lying its  hard  features,  which  had  become  a  daily 
apparition  at  the  shipping  agent's,  then  disappeared. 
It  turned  up  one  afternoon  at  the  observatory  as 
the  setting  sun  relieved  the  operator  from  his 
duties.  There  was  something  so  childlike  and 
simple  in  the  few  questions  asked  by  this  stranger, 
touching  his  business,  that  the  operator  spent  some 
time  to  explain.  When  the  mystery  of  signals  and 
telegraphs  was  unfolded,  the  stranger  had  one  more 
question  to  ask.  "How  long  might  a  vessel  be 
absent  before  they  would  give  up  expecting  her  ? " 
The  operator  could  n't  tell;  it  would  depend  on 
circumstances.  Would  it  be  a  year?  Yes,  it 
might  be  a  year,  and  vessels  had  been  given  up 
for  lost  after  two  years  and  had  come  home.  The 
stranger  put  his  rough  hand  on  the  operator's,  and 
thanked  him  for  his  "  troubil,"  and  went  away. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  SHIP,  273 

Still  the  ship  came  not.  Stately  clippers  swept 
into  the  Gate,  and  merchantmen  went  by  with 
colors  flying,  and  the  welcoming  gun  of  the  steamer 
often  reverberated  among  the  hills.  Then  the 
patient  face,  with  the  old  resigned  expression,  but 
a  brighter,  wistful  look  in  the  eye,  was  regularly 
met  on  the  crowded  decks  of  the  steamer  as  she 
disembarked  her  living  freight.  He  may  have  had 
a  dimly  denned  hope  that  the  missing  ones  might 
yet  come  this  way,  as  only  another  road  over  that 
strange  unknown  expanse.  But  he  talked  with 
ship  captains  and  sailors,  and  even  this  last  hope 
seemed  to  fail.  When  the  careworn  face  and  bright 
eyes  were  presented  again  at  the  observatory,  the 
operator,  busily  engaged,  could  not  spare  time  to 
answer  foolish  interrogatories,  so  he  went  away. 
But  as  night  fell,  he  was  seen  sitting  on  the  rocks 
with  his  face  turned  seaward,  and  was  seated  there 
all  that  night. 

When  he  became  hopelessly  insane,  for  that  was 
what  the  physicians  said  made  his  eyes  so  bright 
and  wistful,  he  was  cared  for  by  a  fellow-craftsman 
who  had  known  his  troubles.  He  was  allowed  to 
indulge  his  fancy  of  going  out  to  watch  for  the 
ship,  in  which  she  "and  the  children"  were,  at 
night  when  no  one  else  was  watching.  He  had 
made  up  his  mind  that  the  ship  would  come  in  at 
night.  This,  and  the  idea  that  he  would  relieve 
the  operator,  who  would  be  tired  with  watching  all 

12*  B 


274  WAITING  FOB  THE  SHIP. 

day,  seemed  to  please  him.     So  he  went  out  and 
relieved  the  operator  every  night ! 

For  two  years  the  ships  came  and  went.  He 
was  there  to  see  the  outward-bound  clipper,  and 
greet  her  on  her  return.  He  was  known  only  by 
a  few  who  frequented  the  place.  When  he  was 
missed  at  last  from  his  accustomed  spot,  a  day  or 
two  elapsed  before  any  alarm  was  felt.  One  Sun- 
day, a  party  of  pleasure-seekers  clambering  over 
the  rocks  were  attracted  by  the  barking  of  a  dog 
that  had  run  on  before  them.  When  they  came 
up  they  found  a  plainly  dressed  man  lying  there 
dead.  There  were  a  few  papers  in  his  pocket,  — 
chiefly  slips  cut  from  different  journals  of  old 
marine  memoranda,  —  and  his  face  was  turned  to- 
wards the  distant  sea. 


LEGENDS  AND  TALES. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

THE  cautious  reader  will  detect  a  lack  of  au- 
thenticity in  the  following  pages.  I  am  not 
a  cautious  reader  myself,  yet  I  confess  with  some 
concern  to  the  absence  of  much  documentary  evi- 
dence in  support  of  the  singular  incident  I  am 
about  to  relate.  Disjointed  memoranda,  the  pro- 
ceedings of  ayuntamientos  and  early  departmental 
juntas,  with  other  records  of  a  primitive  and 
superstitious  people,  have  been  my  inadequate 
authorities.  It  is  but  just  to  state,  however,  that 
though  this  particular  story  lacks  corroboration, 
in  ransacking  the  Spanish  archives  of  Upper  Cali- 
fornia I  have  met  with  many  more  surprising  and 
incredible  stories,  attested  and  supported  to  a  de- 
gree that  would  have  placed  this  legend  beyond 
a  cavil  or  doubt.  I  have,  also,  never  lost  faith  in 
the  legend  myself,  and  in  so  doing  have  profited 
much  from  the  examples  of  divers  grant-claimants, 
who  have  often  jostled  me  in  their  more  practical 
researches,  and  who  have  my  sincere  sympathy  at 
the  scepticism  of  a  modern  hard-headed  and  prac- 
tical world. 

For  many  years  after  Father  Junipero  Serro  first 


278        THE   LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

rang  his  bell  in  the  wilderness  of  Upper  California, 
the  spirit  which  animated  that  adventurous  priest 
did  not  wane.  The  conversion  of  the  heathen 
went  on  rapidly  in  the  establishment  of  Missions 
throughout  the  land.  So  sedulously  did  the  good 
Fathers  set  about  their  work,  that  around  their 
isolated  chapels  there  presently  arose  adobe  huts, 
whose  mud-plastered  and  savage  tenants  partook 
regularly  of  the  provisions,  and  occasionally  of 
the  Sacrament,  of  their  pious  hosts.  Nay,  so  great 
was  their  progress,  that  one  zealous  Padre  is  re- 
ported to  have  administered  the  Lord's  Supper  one 
Sabbath  morning  to  "  over  three  hundred  heathen 
Salvages."  It  was  not  to  be  wondered  that  the 
Enemy  of  Souls,  being  greatly  incensed  thereat, 
and  alarmed  at  his  decreasing  popularity,  should 
have  grievously  tempted  and  embarrassed  these 
Holy  Fathers,  as  we  shall  presently  see. 

Yet  they  were  happy,  peaceful  days  for  Cali- 
fornia. The  vagrant  keels  of  prying  Commerce 
had  not  as  yet  ruffled  the  lordly  gravity  of  her 
bays.  No  torn  and  ragged  gulch  betrayed  the  sus- 
picion of  golden  treasure.  The  wild  oats  drooped 
idly  in  the  morning  heat,  or  wrestled  with  the 
afternoon  breezes.  Deer  and  antelope  dotted  the 
plain.  The  watercourses  brawled  in  their  familiar 
channels,  nor  dreamed  of  ever  shifting  their  regular 
tide.  The  wonders  of  the  Yosemite  and  Calaveras 
were  as  yet  unrecorded.  The  Holy  Fathers  noted 


THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        279 

little  of  the  landscape  beyond  the  barbaric  prodi- 
gality with  which  the  quick  soil  repaid  the  sowing. 
A  new  conversion,  the  advent  of  a  Saint's  day,  or 
the  baptism  of  an  Indian  baby,  was  at  once  the 
chronicle  and  marvel  of  their  day. 

At  this  blissful  epoch  there  lived  at  the  Mission 
of  San  Pablo  Father  Jose*  Antonio  Haro,  a  worthy 
brother  of  the  Society  of  Jesus.  He  was  of  tall 
and  cadaverous  aspect.  A  somewhat  romantic  his- 
tory had  given  a  poetic  interest  to  his  lugubrious 
visage.  While  a  youth,  pursuing  his  studies  at 
famous  Salamanca,  he  had  become  enamored  of  the 
charms  of  Dona  Carmen  de  Torrencevara,  as  that 
lady  passed  to  her  matutinal  devotions.  Untoward 
circumstances,  hastened,  perhaps,  by  a  wealthier 
suitor,  brought  this  amour  to  a  disastrous  issue; 
and  Father  Jose*  entered  a  monastery,  taking  upon 
himself  the  vows  of  celibacy.  It  was  here  that 
his  natural  fervor  and  poetic  enthusiasm  conceived 
expression  as  a  missionary.  A  longing  to  convert 
the  uncivilized  heathen  succeeded  his  frivolous 
earthly  passion,  and  a  desire  to  explore  and  develop 
unknown  fastnesses  continually  possessed  him.  In 
his  flashing  eye  and  sombre  exterior  was  detected 
a  singular  commingling  of  the  discreet  Las  Casas 
and  the  impetuous  Balboa. 

Fired  by  this  pious  zeal,  Father  Jose  went  for- 
ward in  the  van  of  Christian  pioneers.  On  reach- 
ing Mexico,  he  obtained  authority  to  establish  the 


280         THE   LEGEND    OF   MONTE   DEL   DIABLO. 

Mission  of  San  Pablo.  Like  the  good  Junipero, 
accompanied  only  by  an  acolyte  and  muleteer,  he 
unsaddled  his  mules  in  a  dusky  canon,  and  rang  his 
bell  in  the  wilderness.  The  savages  —  a  peaceful, 
inoffensive,  and  inferior  race  —  presently  nocked 
around  him.  The  nearest  military  post  was  far 
away,  which  contributed  much  to  the  security  of 
these  pious  pilgrims,  who  found  their  open  trust- 
fulness and  amiability  better  fitted  to  repress  hos- 
tility than  the  presence  of  an  armed,  suspicious, 
and  brawling  soldiery.  So  the  good  Father  Jos6 
said  matins  and  prime,  mass  and  vespers,  in  the 
heart  of  Sin  and  Heathenism,  taking  no  heed  to 
himself,  but  looking  only  to  the  welfare  of  the 
Holy  Church.  Conversions  soon  followed,  and,  on 
the  7th  of  July,  1760,  the  first  Indian  baby  was 
baptized, — an  event  which,  as  Father  Jos£  piously 
records,  "exceeds  the  richnesse  of  gold  or  pre- 
cious jewels  or  the  chancing  upon  the  Ophir  of 
Solomon."  I  quote  this  incident  as  best  suited  to 
show  the  ingenious  blending  of  poetry  and  piety 
which  distinguished  Father  Jose*'s  record. 

The  Mission  of  San  Pablo  progressed  and  pros- 
pered until  the  pious  founder  thereof,  like  the  in- 
fidel Alexander,  might  have  wept  that  there  were 
no  more  heathen  worlds  to  conquer.  But  his  ardent 
and  enthusiastic  spirit  could  not  long  brook  an 
idleness  that  seemed  begotten  of  sin;  and  one 
pleasant  August  morning,  in  the  year  of  grace 


THE  LEGEND   OF   MONTE  DEL   DIABLO.         281 

1770,  Father  Jose*  issued  from  the  outer  court  of 
the  Mission  building,  equipped  to  explore  the  field 
for  new  missionary  labors. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  quiet  gravity  and  un- 
pretentiousness  of  the  little  cavalcade.  First  rode 
a  stout  muleteer,  leading  a  pack- mule  laden  with 
the  provisions  of  the  party,  together  with  a  few 
cheap  crucifixes  and  hawks'  bells.  After  him  came 
the  devout  Padre  Jose*,  bearing  his  breviary  and 
cross,  with  a  black  serapa  thrown  around  his 
shoulders;  while  on  either  side  trotted  a  dusky 
convert,  anxious  to  show  a  proper  sense  of  their 
regeneration  by  acting  as  guides  into  the  wilds  of 
their  heathen  brethren.  Their  new  condition  was 
agreeably  shown  by  the  absence  of  the  usual  mud- 
plaster,  which  in  their  unconverted  state  they 
assumed  to  keep  away  vermin  and  cold.  The 
morning  was  bright  and  propitious.  Before  their 
departure,  mass  had  been  said  in  the  chapel,  and 
the  protection  of  St.  Ignatius  invoked  against  all 
contingent  evils,  but  especially  against  bears,  which, 
like  the  fiery  dragons  of  old,  seemed  to  cherish  un- 
conquerable hostility  to  the  Holy  Church. 

As  they  wound  through  the  canon,  charming 
birds  disported  upon  boughs  and  sprays,  and  sober 
quails  piped  from  the  alders ;  the  willowy  water- 
courses gave  a  musical  utterance,  and  the  long 
grass  whispered  on  the  hillside.  On  entering  the 
deeper  defiles,  above  them  towered  dark  green 


282        THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

masses  of  pine,  and  occasionally  the  madrono 
shook  its  bright  scarlet  berries.  As  they  toiled 
up  many  a  steep  ascent,  Father  Jose*  sometimes 
picked  up  fragments  of  scoria,  which  spake  to  his 
imagination  of  direful  volcanoes  and  impending 
earthquakes.  To  the  less  scientific  mind  of  the 
muleteer  Ignacio  they  had  even  a  more  terrifying 
significance ;  and  he  once  or  twice  snuffed  the  air 
suspiciously,  and  declared  that  it  smelt  of  sulphur. 
So  the  first  day  of  their  journey  wore  away,  and 
at  night  they  encamped  without  having  met  a  sin- 
gle heathen  face. 

It  was  on  this  night  that  the  Enemy  of  Souls 
appeared  to  Ignacio  in  an  appalling  form.  He 
had  retired  to  a  secluded  part  of  the  camp  and 
had  sunk  upon  his  knees  in  prayerful  meditation, 
when  he  looked  up  and  perceived  the  Arch-Fiend 
in  the  likeness  of  a  monstrous  bear.  The  Evil 
One  was  seated  on  his  hind  legs  immediately  be- 
fore him,  with  his  fore  paws  joined  together  just 
below  his  black  muzzle.  Wisely  conceiving  this 
remarkable  attitude  to  be  in  mockery  and  derision 
of  his  devotions,  the  worthy  muleteer  was  trans- 
ported with  fury.  Seizing  an  arquebuse,  he  in- 
stantly closed  his  eyes  and  fired.  When  he  had 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  terrific  discharge, 
the  apparition  had  disappeared.  Father  Jose*,  awak- 
ened by  the  report,  reached  the  spot  only  in  time 
to  chide  the  muleteer  for  wasting  powder  and  ball 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        283 

in  a  contest  with  one  whom  a  single  ave  would  have 
been  sufficient  to  utterly  discomfit.  What  further 
reliance  he  placed  on  Ignacio's  story  is  not  known ; 
but,  in  commemoration  of  a  worthy  Californian 
custom,  the  place  was  called  La  Canada  de  la 
Tentacion  del  Pio  Muletero,  or  "  The  Glen  of  the 
Temptation  of  the  Pious  Muleteer,"  a  name  which 
it  retains  to  this  day. 

The  next  morning  the  party,  issuing  from  a  nar- 
row gorge,  came  upon  a  long  valley,  sear  and  burnt 
with  the  shadeless  heat.  Its  lower  extremity  was 
lost  in  a  fading  line  of  low  hills,  which,  gathering 
might  and  volume  toward  the  upper  end  of  the 
valley,  upheaved  a  stupendous  bulwark  against 
the  breezy  North.  The  peak  of  this  awful  spur 
was  just  touched  by  a  fleecy  cloud  that  shifted  to 
and  fro  like  a  banneret.  Father  Jose*  gazed  at 
it  with  mingled  awe  and  admiration.  By  a  singu- 
lar coincidence,  the  muleteer  Ignacio  uttered  the 
simple  ejaculation  "  Diablo  !  " 

As  they  penetrated  the  valley,  they  soon  began 
to  miss  the  agreeable  life  and  companionable  echoes 
of  the  canon  they  had  quitted.  Huge  fissures  in 
the  parched  soil  seemed  to  gape  as  with  thirsty 
mouths.  A  few  squirrels  darted  from  the  earth, 
and  disappeared  as  mysteriously  before  the  jin- 
gling mules.  A  gray  wolf  trotted  leisurely  along 
just  ahead.  But  whichever  way  Father  Jose* 
turned,  the  mountain  always  asserted  itself  and 


284        THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

arrested  his  wandering  eye.  Out  of  the  dry  and 
arid  valley,  it  seemed  to  spring  into  cooler  and 
bracing  life.  Deep  cavernous  shadows  dwelt  along 
its  base ;  rocky  fastnesses  appeared  midway  of  its 
elevation ;  and  on  either  side  huge  black  hills 
diverged  like  massy  roots  from  a  central  trunk. 
His  lively  fancy  pictured  these  hills  peopled  with 
a  majestic  and  intelligent  race  of  savages  ;  and 
looking  into  futurity,  he  already  saw  a  monstrous 
cross  crowning  the  dome-like  summit.  Far  differ- 
ent were  the  sensations  of  the  muleteer,  who  saw 
in  those  awful  solitudes  only  fiery  dragons,  colossal 
bears  and  break-neck  trails.  The  converts,  Con- 
cepcion  and  Incarnacion,  trotting  modestly  beside 
the  Padre,  recognized,  perhaps,  some  manifestation 
of  their  former  weird  mythology. 

At  nightfall  they  reached  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain. Here  Father  Jos6  unpacked  his  mules,  said 
vespers,  and,  formally  ringing  his  bell,  called  upon 
the  Gentiles  within  hearing  to  come  and  accept 
the  Holy  Faith.  The  echoes  of  the  black  frowning 
hills  around  him  caught  up  the  pious  invitation, 
and  repeated  it  at  intervals  ;  but  no  Gentiles  ap- 
peared that  night.  Nor  were  the  devotions  of  the 
muleteer  again  disturbed,  although  he  afterward 
asserted,  that,  when  the  Father's  exhortation  was 
ended,  a  mocking  peal  of  laughter  came  from  the 
mountain.  Nothing  daunted  by  these  intimations 
of  the  near  hostility  of  the  Evil  One,  Father  Jos<$ 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        285 

declared  his  intention  to  ascend  the  mountain  at 
early  dawn ;  and  before  the  sun  rose  the  next 
morning  he  was  leading  the  way. 

The  ascent  was  in  many  places  difficult  and 
dangerous.  Huge  fragments  of  rock  often  lay 
across  the  trail,  and  after  a  few  hours'  climbing 
they  were  forced  to  leave  their  mules  in  a  little 
gully,  and  continue  the  ascent  afoot.  Unaccus- 
tomed to  such  exertion,  Father  Jose*  often  stopped 
to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  thin  cheeks.  As 
the  day  wore  on,  a  strange  silence  oppressed  them. 
Except  the  occasional  pattering  of  a  squirrel,  or  a 
rustling  in  the  chimisal  bushes,  there  were  no  signs 
of  life.  The  half-human  print  of  a  bear's  foot 
sometimes  appeared  before  them,  at  which  Igna- 
cio  always  crossed  himself  piously.  The  eye  was 
sometimes  cheated  by  a  dripping  from  the  rocks, 
which  on  closer  inspection  proved  to  be  a  resinous 
oily  liquid  with  an  abominable  sulphurous  smell. 
When  they  were  within  a  short  distance  of  the 
summit,  the  discreet  Ignacio,  selecting  a  sheltered 
nook  for  the  camp,  slipped  aside  and  busied  him- 
self in  preparations  for  the  evening,  leaving  the 
Holy  Father  to  continue  the  ascent  alone.  Never 
was  there  a  more  thoughtless  act  of  prudence, 
never  a  more  imprudent  piece  of  caution.  With- 
out noticing  the  desertion,  buried  in  pious  reflec- 
tion, Father  Jose*  pushed  mechanically  on,  and, 
reaching  the  summit,  cast  himself  down  and  gazed 
upon  the  prospect. 


286        THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

Below  him  lay  a  succession  of  valleys  opening 
into  each  other  like  gentle  lakes,  until  they  were 
lost  to  the  southward.  Westerly  the  distant  range 
hid  the  bosky  Canada  which  sheltered  the  mission 
of  San  Pablo.  In  the  farther  distance  the  Pacific 
Ocean  stretched  away,  bearing  a  cloud  of  fog  upon 
its  bosom,  which  crept  through  the  entrance  of  the 
bay,  and  rolled  thickly  between  him  and  the  north- 
eastward ;  the  same  fog  hid  the  base  of  mountain 
and  the  view  beyond.  Still,  from  time  to  time  the 
fleecy  veil  parted,  and  timidly  disclosed  charming 
glimpses  of  mighty  rivers,  mountain  defiles,  and 
rolling  plains,  sear  with  ripened  oats,  and  bathed 
in  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun.  As  Father  Jos£ 
gazed,  he  was  penetrated  with  a  pious  longing. 
Already  his  imagination,  filled  with  enthusiastic 
conceptions,  beheld  all  that  vast  expanse  gathered 
under  the  mild  sway  of  the  Holy  Faith,  and  peo- 
pled with  zealous  converts.  Each  little  knoll  in 
fancy  became  crowned  with  a  chapel ;  from  each 
dark  canon  gleamed  the  white  walls  of  a  mission 
building.  Growing  bolder  in  his  enthusiasm,  and 
looking  farther  into  futurity,  he  beheld  a  new 
Spain  rising  on  these  savage  shores.  He  already 
saw  the  spires  of  stately  cathedrals,  the  domes  of 
palaces,  vineyards,  gardens,  and  groves.  Convents, 
half  hid  among  the  hills,  peeping  from  plantations 
of  branching  limes  ;  and  long  processions  of  chant- 
ing nuns  wound  through  the  defiles.  So  com- 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        287 

pletely  was  the  good  Father's  conception  of  the 
future  confounded  with  the  past,  that  even  in  their 
choral  strain  the  well-remembered  accents  of  Car- 
men struck  his  ear.  He  was  busied  in  these  fan- 
ciful imaginings,  when  suddenly  over  that  extended 
prospect  the  faint,  distant  tolling  of  a  bell  rang 
sadly  out  and  died.  It  was  the  Angelus.  Father 
Jose*  listened  with  superstitious  exaltation.  The 
mission  of  San  Pablo  was  far  away,  and  the  sound 
must  have  been  some  miraculous  omen.  But  never 
before,  to  his  enthusiastic  sense,  did  the  sweet  se- 
riousness of  this  angelic  symbol  come  with  such 
strange  significance.  With  the  last  faint  peal,  his 
glowing  fancy  seemed  to  cool ;  the  fog  closed  in 
below  him,  and  the  good  Father  remembered  he 
had  not  had  his  supper.  He  had  risen  and  was 
wrapping  his  serapa  around  him,  when  he  per- 
ceived for  the  first  time  that  he  was  not  alone. 

Nearly  opposite,  and  where  should  have  been 
the  faithless  Ignacio,  a  grave  and  decorous  figure 
was  seated.  His  appearance  was  that  of  an  elderly 
hidalgo,  dressed  in  mourning,  with  mustaches  of 
iron-gray  carefully  waxed  and  twisted  around  a 
pair  of  lantern-jaws.  The  monstrous  hat  and  pro- 
digious feather,  the  enormous  ruff  and  exaggerated 
trunk-hose,  contrasted  with  a  frame  shrivelled  and 
wizened,  all  belonged  to  a  century  previous.  Yet 
Father  Jose*  was  not  astonished.  His  adventurous 
life  and  poetic  imagination,  continually  on  the 


288        THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

lookout  for  the  marvellous,  gave  him  a  certain 
advantage  over  the  practical  and  material  minded. 
He  instantly  detected  the  diabolical  quality  of  his 
visitant,  and  was  prepared.  With  equal  coolness 
and  courtesy  he  met  the  cavalier's  obeisance. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Sir  Priest,"  said  the  stran- 
ger, "for  disturbing  your  meditations.  Pleasant 
they  must  have  been,  and  right  fanciful,  I  ima- 
gine, when  occasioned  by  so  fair  a  prospect." 

"  Worldly,  perhaps,  Sir  Devil,  —  for  such  I  take 
you  to  be,"  said  the  Holy  Father,  as  the  stranger 
bowed  his  black  plumes  to  the  ground ;  "  worldly, 
perhaps ;  for  it  hath  pleased  Heaven  to  retain  even 
in  our  regenerated  state  much  that  pertaineth  to 
the  flesh,  yet  still,  I  trust,  not  without  some  spec- 
ulation for  the  welfare  of  the  Holy  Church.  In 
dwelling  upon  yon  fair  expanse,  mine  eyes  have 
been  graciously  opened  with  prophetic  inspiration, 
and  the  promise  of  the  heathen  as  an  inheritance 
hath  marvellously  recurred  to  me.  For  there  can 
be  none  lack  such  diligence  in  the  True  Faith, 
but  may  see  that  even  the  conversion  of  these 
pitiful  salvages  hath  a  meaning.  As  the  blessed 
St.  Ignatius  discreetly  observes,"  continued  Father 
Jose*,  clearing  his  throat  and  slightly  elevating  his 
voice,  "  '  the  heathen  is  given  to  the  warriors  of 
Christ,  even  as  the  pearls  of  rare  discovery  which 
gladden  the  hearts  of  shipmen.'  Nay,  I  might 
say  —  " 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        289 

But  here  the  stranger,  who  had  been  wrinkling 
his  brows  and  twisting  his  mustaches  with  well- 
bred  patience,  took  advantage  of  an  oratorical 
pause : — 

"  It  grieves  me,  Sir  Priest,  to  interrupt  the  cur- 
rent of  your  eloquence  as  discourteously  as  I  have 
already  broken  your  meditations  ;  but  the  day  al- 
ready waneth  to  night.  I  have  a  matter  of  serious 
import  to  make  with  you,  could  I  entreat  your 
cautious  consideration  a  few  moments." 

Father  Jose*  hesitated.  The  temptation  was 
great,  and  the  prospect  of  acquiring  some  knowl- 
edge of  the  Great  Enemy's  plans  not  the  least 
trifling  object.  And  if  the  truth  must  be  told, 
there  was  a  certain  decorum  about  the  stranger 
that  interested  the  Padre.  Though  well  aware  of 
the  Protean  shapes  the  Arch-Fiend  could  assume, 
and  though  free  from  the  weaknesses  of  the  flesh, 
Father  Jose*  was  not  above  the  temptations  of  the 
spirit.  Had  the  Devil  appeared,  as  in  the  case  of 
the  pious  St.  Anthony,  in  the  likeness  of  a  comely 
damsel,  the  good  Father,  with  his  certain  experi- 
ence of  the  deceitful  sex,  would  have  whisked  her 
away  in  the  saying  of  a  paternoster.  But  there 
was,  added  to  the  security  of  age,  a  grave  sadness 
about  the  stranger,  —  a  thoughtful  consciousness 
as  of  being  at  a  great  moral  disadvantage, —  which 
at  once  decided  him  on  a  magnanimous  course  of 
conduct. 


290        THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

The  stranger  then  proceeded  to  inform  him,  that 
he  had  been  diligently  observing  the  Holy  Father's 
triumphs  in  the  valley.  That,  far  from  being  great- 
ly exercised  thereat,  he  had  been  only  grieved  to 
see  so  enthusiastic  and  chivalrous  an  antagonist 
wasting  his  zeal  in  a  hopeless  work.  For,  he  ob- 
served, the  issue  of  the  great  battle  of  Good  and 
Evil  had  been  otherwise  settled,  as  he  would  pres- 
ently show  him.  "  It  wants  but  a  few  moments 
of  night,"  he  continued,  "  and  over  this  interval  of 
twilight,  as  you  know,  I  have  been  given  complete 
control.  Look  to  the  West." 

As  the  Padre  turned,  the  stranger  took  his  enor- 
mous hat  from  his  head,  and  waved  it  three  times 
before  him.  At  each  sweep  of  the  prodigious 
feather,  the  fog  grew  thinner,  until  it  melted  im- 
palpably  away,  and  the  former  landscape  returned, 
yet  warm  with  the  glowing  sun.  As  Father  Jose* 
gazed,  a  strain  of  martial  music  arose  from  the 
valley,  and  issuing  from  a  deep  cation,  the  good 
Father  beheld  a  long  cavalcade  of  gallant  cavaliers, 
habited  like  his  companion.  As  they  swept  down 
the  plain,  they  were  joined  by  like  processions, 
that  slowly  defiled  from  every  ravine  and  canon  of 
the  mysterious  mountain.  From  time  to  time  the 
peal  of  a  trumpet  swelled  fitfully  upon  the  breeze  ; 
the  cross  of  Santiago  glittered,  and  the  royal  ban- 
ners of  Castile  and  Aragon  waved  over  the  moving 
column.  So  they  moved  on  solemnly  toward  the 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        291 

sea,  where,  in  the  distance,  Father  Jose*  saw  stately 
caravels,  bearing  the  same  familiar  banner,  await- 
ing them.  The  good  Padre  gazed  with  conflicting 
emotions,  and  the  serious  voice  of  the  stranger 
broke  the  silence. 

"  Thou  hast  beheld,  Sir  Priest,  the  fading  foot- 
prints of  adventurous  Castile.  Thou  hast  seen  the 
declining  glory  of  old  Spain,  —  declining  as  yon- 
der brilliant  sun.  The  sceptre  she  hath  wrested 
from  the  heathen  is  fast  dropping  from  her  decrep- 
it and  fleshless  grasp.  The  children  she  hath 
fostered  shall  know  her  no  longer.  The  soil  she 
hath  acquired  shall  be  lost  to  her  as  irrevocably  as 
she  herself  hath  thrust  the  Moor  from  her  own 
Granada." 

The  stranger  paused,  and  his  voice  seemed 
broken  by  emotion ;  at  the  same  time,  Father  Jose*, 
whose  sympathizing  heart  yearned  toward  the  de- 
parting banners,  cried  in  poignant  accents,  — 

"  Farewell,  ye  gallant  cavaliers  and  Christian  sol- 
diers !  Farewell,  thou,  Nunes  de  Balboa !  thou, 
Alonzo  de  Ojeda !  and  thou,  most  venerable  Las 
Casas !  Farewell,  and  may  Heaven  prosper  still 
the  seed  ye  left  behind!" 

Then  turning  to  the  stranger,  Father  Jose*  be- 
held him  gravely  draw  his  pocket-handkerchief 
from  the  basket-hilt  of  his  rapier,  and  apply  it 
decorously  to  his  eyes. 

"Pardon  this  weakness,  Sir  Priest,"  said  the 


292        THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

cavalier,  apologetically ;  "  but  these  worthy  gentle- 
men were  ancient  friends  of  mine,  and  have  done 
me  many  a  delicate  service, —  much  more,  per- 
chance, than  these  poor  sables  may  signify,"  he 
added,  with  a  grim  gesture  toward  the  mourning 
suit  he  wore. 

Father  Jose*  was  too  much  preoccupied  in  reflec- 
tion to  notice  the  equivocal  nature  of  this  tribute, 
and,  after  a  few  moments'  silence,  said,  as  if  con- 
tinuing his  thought,  — 

"  But  the  seed  they  have  planted  shall  thrive 
and  prosper  on  this  fruitful  soil." 

As  if  answering  the  interrogatory,  the  stranger 
turned  to  the  opposite  direction,  and,  again  waving 
his  hat,  said,  in  the  same  serious  tone,  — 

"Look  to  the  East!" 

The  Father  turned,  and,  as  the  fog  broke  away 
before  the  waving  plume,  he  saw  that  the  sun  was 
rising.  Issuing  with  its  bright  beams  through  the 
passes  of  the  snowy  mountains  beyond,  appeared  a 
strange  and  motley  crew.  Instead  of  the  dark  and 
romantic  visages  of  his  last  phantom  train,  the 
Father  beheld  with  strange  concern  the  blue  eyes 
and  flaxen  hair  of  a  Saxon  race.  In  place  of 
martial  airs  and  musical  utterance,  there  rose  upon 
the  ear  a  strange  din  of  harsh  gutturals  and  sin- 
gular sibilation.  Instead  of  the  decorous  tread 
and  stately  mien  of  the  cavaliers  of  the  former 
vision,  they  came  pushing,  bustling,  panting,  and 


THE  LEGEND   OF   MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        293 

swaggering.  And  as  they  passed,  the  good  Father 
noticed  that  giant  trees  were  prostrated  as  with 
the  breath  of  a  tornado,  and  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  were  torn  and  rent  as  with  a  convulsion. 
And  Father  Jose*  looked  in  vain  for  holy  cross  or 
Christian  symbol ;  there  was  but  one  that  seemed 
an  ensign,  and  he  crossed  himself  with  holy  horror 
as  he  perceived  it  bore  the  effigy  of  a  bear. 

"  Who  are  these  swaggering  Ishmaelites  ? "  he 
asked,  with  something  of  asperity  in  his  tone. 

The  stranger  was  gravely  silent. 

"  What  do  they  here,  with  neither  cross  nor  holy 
symbol  ? "  he  again  demanded. 

"  Have  you  the  courage  to  see,  Sir  Priest  ? "  re- 
sponded the  stranger,  quietly. 

Father  Jose*  felt  his  crucifix,  as  a  lonely  traveller 
might  his  rapier,  and  assented. 

"  Step  under  the  shadow  of  my  plume,"  said  the 
stranger. 

Father  Jose*  stepped  beside  him,  and  they  in- 
stantly sank  through  the  earth. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes,  which  had  remained 
closed  in  prayerful  meditation  during  his  rapid  de- 
scent, he  found  himself  in  a  vast  vault,  bespangled 
overhead  with  luminous  points  like  the  starred  fir- 
mament. It  was  also  lighted  by  a  yellow  glow  that 
seemed  to  proceed  from  a  mighty  sea  or  lake  that 
occupied  the  centre  of  the  chamber.  Around  this 
subterranean  sea  dusky  figures  flitted,  bearing 


294         THE   LEGEND   OF   MONTE   DEL   DIABLO. 

ladles  filled  with  the  yellow  fluid,  which  they  had 
replenished  from  its  depths.  From  this  lake 
diverging  streams  of  the  same  mysterious  flood 
penetrated  like  mighty  rivers  the  cavernous  dis- 
tance. As  they  walked  by  the  banks  of  this  glit- 
tering Styx,  Father  Jos6  perceived  how  the  liquid 
stream  at  certain  places  became  solid.  The  ground 
was  strewn  with  glittering  flakes.  One  of  these 
the  Padre  picked  up  and  curiously  examined.  It 
was  virgin  gold. 

An  expression  of  discomfiture  overcast  the  good 
Father's  face  at  this  discovery;  but  there  was 
trace  neither  of  malice  nor  satisfaction  in  the  stran- 
ger's air,  which  was  still  of  serious  and  fateful  con- 
templation. When  Father  Jose*  recovered  his 
equanimity,  he  said,  bitterly,  — 

"  This,  then,  Sir  Devil,  is  your  work !  This  is 
your  deceitful  lure  for  the  weak  souls  of  sinful  na- 
tions !  So  would  you  replace  the  Christian  grace 
of  holy  Spain ! " 

"  This  is  what  must  be,"  returned  the  stranger, 
gloomily.  "But  listen,  Sir  Priest.  It  lies  with 
you  to  avert  the  issue  for  a  time.  Leave  me  here 
in  peace.  Go  back  to  Castile,  and  take  with  you 
your  bells,  your  images,  and  your  missions.  Con- 
tinue here,  and  you  only  precipitate  results.  Stay ! 
promise  me  you  will  do  this,  and  you  shall  not 
lack  that  which  will  render  your  old  age  an  orna- 
ment and  a  blessing  " ;  and  the  stranger  motioned 
significantly  to  the  lake. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        295 

It  was  here,  the  legend  discreetly  relates,  that  the 
Devil  showed  —  as  he  always  shows  sooner  or  later 
—  his  cloven  hoof.  The  worthy  Padre,  sorely  per- 
plexed by  his  threefold  vision,  and,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  a  little  nettled  at  this  wresting  away 
of  the  glory  of  holy  Spanish  discovery,  had  shown 
some  hesitation.  But  the  unlucky  bribe  of  the 
Enemy  of  Souls  touched  his  Castilian  spirit. 
Starting  back  in  deep  disgust,  he  brandished  his 
crucifix  in  the  face  of  the  unmasked  Fiend,  and 
in  a  voice  that  made  the  dusky  vault  resound, 
cried,  — 

"  Avaunt  thee,  Sathanas  !  Diabolus,  I  defy  thee ! 
What !  wouldst  thou  bribe  me,  —  me,  a  brother  of 
the  Sacred  Society  of  the  Holy  Jesus,  Licentiate 
of  Cordova  and  Inquisitor  of  Guadalaxara  ? 
Thinkest  thou  to  buy  me  with  thy  sordid  treasure  ? 
Avaunt!" 

What  might  have  been  the  issue  of  this  rupture, 
and  how  complete  might  have  been  the  triumph 
of  the  Holy  Father  over  the  Arch-Fiend,  who  was 
recoiling  aghast  at  these  sacred  titles  and  the 
flourishing  symbol,  we  can  never  know,  for  at  that 
moment  the  crucifix  slipped  through  his  fingers. 

Scarcely  had  it  touched  the  ground  before  Devil 
and  Holy  Father  simultaneously  cast  themselves 
toward  it.  In  the  struggle  they  clinched,  and  the 
pious  Jose*,  who  was  as  much  the  superior  of  his 
antagonist  in  bodily  as  in  spiritual  strength,  was 


296        THE   LEGEND   OF  MONTE   DEL  DIABLO. 

about  to  treat  the  Great  Adversary  to  a  back 
somersault,  when  he  suddenly  felt  the  long  nails 
of  the  stranger  piercing  his  flesh.  A  new  fear 
seized  his  heart,  a  numbing  chillness  crept  through 
his  body,  and  he  struggled  to  free  himself,  but  in 
vain.  A  strange  roaring  was  in  his  ears  ;  the  lake 
and  cavern  danced  before  his  eyes  and  vanished ; 
and  with  a  loud  cry  he  sank  senseless  to  the 
ground. 

When  he  recovered  his  consciousness  he  was 
aware  of  a  gentle  swaying  motion  of  his  body.  He 
opened  his  eyes,  and  saw  it  was  high  noon,  and 
that  he  was  being  carried  in  a  litter  through  the 
valley.  He  felt  stiff,  and,  looking  down,  perceived 
that  his  arm  was  tightly  bandaged  to  his  side. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  after  a  few  words  of 
thankful  prayer,  thought  how  miraculously  he  had 
been  preserved,  and  made  a  vow  of  candlesticks  to 
the  blessed  Saint  Jose*.  He  then  called  in  a  faint 
voice,  and  presently  the  penitent  Ignacio  stood 
beside  him. 

The  joy  the  poor  fellow  felt  at  his  patron's  re- 
turning consciousness  for  some  time  choked  his 
utterance.  He  could  only  ejaculate,  "A  miracle! 
Blessed  Saint  Jose*,  he  lives  ! "  and  kiss  the  Padre's 
bandaged  hand.  Father  Jose*,  more  intent  on  his 
last  night's  experience,  waited  for  his  emotion  to 
subside,  and  asked  where  he  had  been  found. 

"  On  the  mountain,  your  Eeverence,  but  a  few 
varas  from  where  he  attacked  you." 


THE  LEGEND   OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO.        297 

"  How  ?  — you  saw  him  then  ? "  asked  the  Padre, 
in  unfeigned  astonishment. 

"  Saw  him,  your  Keverence !  Mother  of  God,  I 
should  think  I  did !  And  your  Keverence  shall  see 
him  too,  if  he  ever  comes  again  within  range  of 
Ignacio's  arquebuse." 

"What  mean  you,  Ignacio?"  said  the  Padre, 
sitting  bolt-upright  in  his  litter. 

"Why,  the  bear,  your  Keverence,  —  the  bear, 
Holy  Father,  who  attacked  your  worshipful  person 
while  you  were  meditating  on  the  top  of  yonder 
mountain." 

"  Ah  ! "  said  the  Holy  Father,  lying  down  again. 
"  Chut,  child !  I  would  be  at  peace." 

When  he  reached  the  Mission,  he  was  tenderly 
cared  for,  and  in  a  few  weeks  was  enabled  to  re- 
sume those  duties  from  which,  as  will  be  seen,  not 
even  the  machinations  of  the  Evil  One  could  divert 
him.  The  news  of  his  physical  disaster  spread 
over  the  country ;  and  a  letter  to  the  Bishop  of 
Guadalaxara  contained  a  confidential  and  detailed 
account  of  the  good  Father's  spiritual  temptation. 
But  in  some  way  the  story  leaked  out ;  and  long 
after  Jos6  was  gathered  to  his  fathers,  his  myste- 
rious encounter  formed  the  theme  of  thrilling  and 
whispered  narrative.  The  mountain  was  generally 
shunned.  It  is  true  that  Senor  Joaquin  Pedrillo 
afterward  located  a  grant  near  the  base  of  the 
mountain ;  but  as  Senora  Pedrillo  was  known  to  be 

13* 


298        THE  LEGEND  OF  MONTE  DEL  DIABLO. 

a  termagant  half-breed,  the  Senor  was  not  sup» 
posed  to  be  over-fastidious. 

Such  Is  the  Legend  of  Monte  del  Diablo.  As  I 
said  before,  it  may  seem  to  lack  essential  corrobora- 
tion.  The  discrepancy  between  the  Father's  narra- 
tive and  the  actual  climax  has  given  rise  to  some 
scepticism  on  the  part  of  ingenious  quibblers.  All 
such  I  would  simply  refer  to  that  part  of  the  re- 
port of  Senor  Julio  Serro,  Sub-Prefect  of  San  Pa- 
blo, before  whom  attest  of  the  above  was  made. 
Touching  this  matter,  the  worthy  Prefect  observes, 
"That  although  the  body  of  Father  Jose*  doth 
show  evidence  of  grievous  conflict  in  the  flesh,  yet 
that  is  no  proof  that  the  Enemy  of  Souls,  who  could 
assume  the  figure  of  a  decorous  elderly  caballero, 
could  not  at  the  same  time  transform  himself  into 
a  bear  for  his  own  vile  purposes." 


THE  ADVEOTUKE  OF  PADKE  YICENTIO. 

A  LEGEND   OF  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

ONE  pleasant  New  Year's  Eve,  about  forty 
years  ago,  Padre  Vicentio  was  slowly  picking 
his  way  across  the  sand-hills  from  the  Mission 
Dolores.  As  he  climbed  the  crest  of  the  ridge  be- 
side Mission  Creek,  his  broad,  shining  face  might 
have  been  easily  mistaken  for  the  beneficent  image 
of  the  rising  moon,  so  bland  was  its  smile  and  so 
indefinite  its  features.  For  the  Padre  was  a  man 
of  notable  reputation  and  character  ;  his  ministra- 
tion at  the  mission  of  San  Jose*  had  been  marked 
with  cordiality  and  unction  ;  he  was  adored  by  the 
simple-minded  savages,  and  had  succeeded  in  im- 
pressing his  individuality  so  strongly  upon  them 
that  the  very  children  were  said  to  have  miracu- 
lously resembled  him  in  feature. 

As  the  holy  man  reached  the  loneliest  portion 
of  the  road,  he  naturally  put  spurs  to  his  mule 
as  if  to  quicken  that  decorous  pace  which  the  obe- 
dient animal  had  acquired  through  long  experi- 
ence of  its  master's  habits.  The  locality  had  an 
unfavorable  reputation.  Sailors  —  deserters  from 
whaleships  —  had  been  seen  lurking  about  the 


300       THE  ADVENTURE  OF  PADRE  VICENTIO. 

outskirts  of  the  town,  and  low  scrub  oaks  which 
everywhere  beset  the  trail  might  have  easily  con- 
cealed some  desperate  runaway.  Besides  these 
material  obstructions,  the  devil,  whose  hostility  to 
the  church  was  well  known,  was  said  to  sometimes 
haunt  the  vicinity  in  the  likeness  of  a  spectral 
whaler,  who  had  met  his  death  in  a  drunken  bout, 
from  a  harpoon  in  the  hands  of  a  companion.  The 
ghost  of  this  unfortunate  mariner  was  frequently 
observed  sitting  on  the  hill  toward  the  dusk  of 
evening,  armed  with  his  favorite  weapon  and  a  tub 
containing  a  coil  of  line,  looking  out  for  some  be- 
lated traveller  on  whom  to  exercise  his  professional 
skill.  It  is  related  that  the  good  Father  Jose* 
Maria  of  the  Mission  Dolores  had  been  twice  at- 
tacked by  this  phantom  sportsman  ;  that  once,  on 
returning  from  San  Francisco,  and  panting  with 
exertion  from  climbing  the  hill,  he  was  startled  by 
a  stentorian  cry  of  "  There  she  blows  ! "  quickly 
followed  by  a  hurtling  harpoon,  which  buried  it- 
self in  the  sand  beside  him  ;  that  on  another  occa- 
sion he  narrowly  escaped  destruction,  his  serapa 
having  been  transfixed  by  the  diabolical  harpoon 
and  dragged  away  in  triumph.  Popular  opinion 
seems  to  have  been  divided  as  to  the  reason  for 
the  devil's  particular  attention  to  Father  Jose", 
some  asserting  that  the  extreme  piety  of  the 
Padre  excited  the  Evil  One's  animosity,  and 
others  that  his  adipose  tendency  simply  rendered 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  PADRE  VICENTIO.       301 

him,  from  a  professional  view-point,  a  profitable 
capture. 

Had  Father  Vicentio  been  inclined  to  scoff  at 
this  apparition  as  a  heretical  innovation,  there 
was  still  the  story  of  Concepcion,  the  Demon  Va- 
quero,  whose  terrible  riata  was  fully  as  potent  as 
the  whaler's  harpoon.  Concepcion,  when  in  the 
flesh,  had  been  a  celebrated  herder  of  cattle  and 
wild  horses,  and  was  reported  to  have  chased  the 
devil  in  the  shape  of  a  fleet  pinto  colt  all  the  way 
from  San  Luis  Obispo  to  San  Francisco,  vowing 
not  to  give  up  the  chase  until  he  had  overtaken  the 
disguised  Arch-Enemy.  This  the  devil  prevented 
by  resuming  his  own  shape,  but  kept  the  unfortu- 
nate vaquero  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  rash  vow ; 
and  Concepcion  still  scoured  the  coast  on  a  phantom 
steed,  beguiling  the  monotony  of  his  eternal  pur- 
suit by  lassoing  travellers,  dragging  them  at  the 
heels  of  his  unbroken  mustang  until  they  were 
eventually  picked  up,  half-strangled,  by  the  road- 
side. The  Padre  listened  attentively  for  the  tramp 
of  this  terrible  rider.  But  no  footfall  broke  the 
&tillness  of  the  night ;  even  the  hoofs  of  his  own 
mule  sank  noiselessly  in  the  shifting  sand.  Now 
and  then  a  rabbit  bounded  lightly  by  him,  or  a 
quail  ran  into  the  bushes.  The  melancholy  call 
of  plover  from  the  adjoining  marshes  of  Mission 
Creek  came  to  him  so  faintly  and  fitfully  that  it 
seemed  almost  a  recollection  of  the  past  rather  than 
a  reality  of  the  present. 


302       THE  ADVENTURE   OF  PADRE  VICENTIO. 

To  add  to  his  discomposure  one  of  those  heavy 
sea-fogs  peculiar  to  the  locality  began  to  drift 
across  the  hills  and  presently  encompassed  him. 
While  endeavoring  to  evade  its  cold  embraces, 
Padre  Vicentio  incautiously  drove  his  heavy  spurs 
into  the  flanks  of  his  mule  as  that  puzzled  animal 
was  hesitating  on  the  brink  of  a  steep  declivity. 
Whether  the  poor  beast  was  indignant  at  this  novel 
outrage,  or  had  been  for  some  time  reflecting  on 
the  evils  of  being  priest-ridden,  has  not  transpired ; 
enough  that  he  suddenly  threw  up  his  heels,  pitch- 
ing the  reverend  man  over  his  head,  and,  having 
accomplished  this  feat,  coolly  dropped  on  his  knees 
and  tumbled  after  his  rider. 

Over  and  over  went  the  Padre,  closely  followed 
by  his  faithless  mule.  Luckily  the  little  hollow 
which  received  the  pair  was  of  sand  that  yielded 
to  the  superincumbent  weight,  half  burying  them 
without  further  injury.  For  some  moments  the 
poor  man  lay  motionless,  vainly  endeavoring  to 
collect  his  scattered  senses.  A  hand  irreverently 
laid  upon  his  collar,  and  a  rough  shake,  assisted 
to  recall  his  consciousness.  As  the  Padre  stag- 
gered to  his  feet  he  found  himself  confronted  by  a 
stranger. 

Seen  dimly  through  the  fog,  and  under  circum- 
stances that  to  say  the  least  were  not  prepossessing, 
the  new-comer  had  an  inexpressibly  mysterious 
and  brigand-like  aspect.  A  long  boat-cloak  con- 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  PADRE  VICENTIO.       303 

cealed  his  figure,  and  a  slouched  hat  hid  his  fea- 
tures, permitting  only  his  eyes  to  glisten  in  the 
depths.  With  a  deep  groan  the  Padre  slipped  from 
the  stranger's  grasp  and  subsided  into  the  soft  sand 
again. 

"  Gad's  life  ! "  said  the  stranger,  pettishly,  "  hast 
no  more  bones  in  thy  fat  carcass  than  a  jelly- 
fish ?  Lend  a  hand,  here  !  Yo,  heave  ho  ! "  and 
he  dragged  the  Padre  into  an  upright  position. 
"  Now,  then,  who  and  what  art  thou  ? " 

The  Padre  could  not  help  thinking  that  the 
question  might  have  more  properly  been  asked  by 
himself ;  but  with  an  odd  mixture  of  dignity  and 
trepidation  he  began  enumerating  his  different 
titles,  which  were  by  no  means  brief,  and  would 
have  been  alone  sufficient  to  strike  awe  in  the 
bosom  of  an  ordinary  adversary.  The  stranger 
irreverently  broke  in  upon  his  formal  phrases,  and 
assuring  him  that  a  priest  was  the  very  person  he 
was  looking  for,  coolly  replaced  the  old  man's  hat, 
which  had  tumbled  off,  and  bade  him  accompany 
him  at  once  on  an  errand  of  spiritual  counsel  to 
one  who  was  even  then  lying  in  extremity.  "  To 
think,"  said  the  stranger,  "  that  I  should  stumble 
upon  the  very  man  I  was  seeking !  Body  of 
Bacchus  !  but  this  is  lucky  !  Follow  me  quickly, 
for  there  is  no  time  to  lose." 

Like  most  easy  natures  the  positive  assertion  of 
the  stranger,  and  withal  a  certain  authoritative  air 


304       THE  ADVENTURE  OF  PADRE  VICENTIO. 

of  command,  overcame  what  slight  objections  the 
Padre  might  have  feebly  nurtured  during  this  re- 
markable interview.  The  spiritual  invitation  was 
one,  also,  that  he  dared  not  refuse  ;  not  only  that ; 
but  it  tended  somewhat  to  remove  the  superstitious 
dread  with  which  he  had  begun  to  regard  the  mys- 
terious stranger.  But,  following  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance, the  Padre  could  not  help  observing  with  a 
thrill  of  horror  that  the  stranger's  footsteps  made 
no  impression  on  the  sand,  and  his  figure  seemed 
at  times  to  blend  and  incorporate  itself  with  the 
fog,  until  the  holy  man  was  obliged  to  wait  for 
its  reappearance.  In  one  of  these  intervals  of 
embarrassment  he  heard  the  ringing  of  the  far-off 
Mission  bell,  proclaiming  the  hour  of  midnight. 
Scarcely  had  the  last  stroke  died  away  before  the 
announcement  was  taken  up  and  repeated  by  a 
multitude  of  bells  of  all  sizes,  and  the  air  was 
filled  with  the  sound  of  striking  clocks  and  the 
pealing  of  steeple  chimes.  The  old  man  uttered 
a  cry  of  alarm.  The  stranger  sharply  demanded 
the  cause.  "  The  bells  !  did  you  not  hear  them  ? " 
gasped  Padre  Vicentio.  "  Tush  !  tush  ! "  answered 
the  stranger,  "  thy  fall  hath  set  triple  bob-majors 
ringing  in  thine  ears.  Come  on  ! " 

The  Padre  was  only  too  glad  to  accept  the  ex- 
planation conveyed  in  this  discourteous  answer. 
But  he  was  destined  for  another  singular  experi- 
ence. When  they  had  reached  the  summit  of  the 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  PADRE  VICENTIO.       305 

eminence  now  known  as  Russian  Hill,  an  excla- 
mation again  burst  from  the  Padre.  The  stranger 
turned  to  his  companion  with  an  impatient  gesture  ; 
but  the  Padre  heeded  him  not.  The  view  that 
burst  upon  his  sight  was  such  as  might  well  have 
engrossed  the  attention  of  a  more  enthusiastic 
temperament.  The  fog  had  not  yet  reached  the 
hill,  and  the  long  valleys  and  hillsides  of  the  em- 
barcadero  below  were  glittering  with  the  light  of  a 
populous  city.  "  Look  ! "  said  the  Padre,  stretch- 
ing his  hand  over  the  spreading  landscape.  "Look, 
dost  thou  not  see  the  stately  squares  and  brilliant- 
ly lighted  avenues  of  a  mighty  metropolis.  Dost 
thou  not  see,  as .  it  were,  another  firmament  be- 
low ? " 

"Avast  heaving,  reverend  man,  and  quit  this 
folly,"  said  the  stranger,  dragging  the  bewildered 
Padre  after  him.  "  Behold  rather  the  stars  knocked 
out  of  thy  hollow  noddle  by  the  fall  thou  hast 
had.  Prithee,  get  over  thy  visions  and  rhapsodies, 
for  the  time  is  wearing  apace." 

The  Padre  humbly  followed  without  another 
word.  Descending  the  hill  toward  the  north,  the 
stranger  leading  the  way,  in  a  few  moments  the 
Padre  detected  the  wash  of  waves,  and  presently 
his  feet  struck  the  firmer  sand  of  the  beach.  Here 
the  stranger  paused,  and  the  Padre  perceived  a 
boat  lying  in  readiness  hard  by.  As  he  stepped 
into  the  stern  sheets,  in  obedience  to  the  command 


306       THE  ADVENTURE   OF  PADRE   VICENTIO. 

of  his  companion,  he  noticed  that  the  rowers 
seemed  to  partake  of  the  misty  incorporeal  texture 
of  his  companion,  a  similarity  that  became  the 
more  distressing  when  he  perceived  also  that  their 
oars  in  pulling  together  made  no  noise.  The 
stranger,  assuming  the  helm,  guided  the  boat  on 
quietly,  while  the  fog,  settling  over  the  face  of  the 
water  and  closing  around  them,  seemed  to  inter- 
pose a  muffled  wall  between  themselves  and  the 
rude  jarring  of  the  outer  world.  As  they  pushed 
further  into  this  penetralia,  the  Padre  listened  anx- 
iously for  the  sound  of  creaking  blocks  and  the 
rattling  of  cordage,  but  no  vibration  broke  the 
veiled  stillness  or  disturbed  the  warm  breath  of 
the  fleecy  fog.  Only  one  incident  occurred  to  break 
the  monotony  of  their  mysterious  journey.  A 
one-eyed  rower,  who  sat  in  front  of  the  Padre, 
catching  the  devout  father's  eye,  immediately 
grinned  such  a  ghastly  smile,  and  winked  his  re- 
maining eye  with  such  diabolical  intensity  of 
meaning  that  the  Padre  was  constrained  to  utter  a 
pious  ejaculation,  which  had  the  disastrous  effect 
of  causing  the  marine  Codes  to  "  catch  a  crab," 
throwing  his  heels  in  the  air  and  his  head  into  the 
bottom  of  the  boat.  But  even  this  accident  did 
not  disturb  the  gravity  of  the  rest  of  the  ghastly 
boat's  crew. 

When,  as  it  seemed  to  the  Padre,  ten  minutes 
had  elapsed,  the  outline  of  a  large  ship  loomed  up 


THE  ADVENTURE   OF  PADRE  VICENTIO.       307 

directly  across  their  bow.  Before  he  could  utter  the 
cry  of  warning  that  rose  to  his  lips,  or  brace  himself 
against  the  expected  shock,  the  boat  passed  gently 
and  noiselessly  through  the  sides  of  the  vessel,  and 
the  holy  man  found  himself  standing  on  the  berth 
deck  of  what  seemed  to  be  an  ancient  caravel. 
The  boat  and  boat's  crew  had  vanished.  Only  his 
mysterious  friend,  the  stranger,  remained.  By  the 
light  of  a  swinging  lamp  the  Padre  beheld  him 
standing  beside  a  hammock,  whereon,  apparently, 
lay  the  dying  man  to  whom  he  had  been  so  mys- 
teriously summoned.  As  the  Padre,  in  obedience 
to  a  sign  from  his  companion,  stepped  to  the  side 
of  the  sufferer,  he  feebly  opened  his  eyes  and  thus 
addressed  him :  — 

"  Thou  seest  before  thee,  reverend  father,  a  help- 
less mortal,  struggling  not  only  with  the  last  ago- 
nies of  the  flesh,  but  beaten  down  and  tossed  with 
sore  anguish  of  the  spirit.  It  matters  little  when 
or  how  I  became  what  thou  now  seest  me.  Enough 
that  my  life  has  been  ungodly  and  sinful,  and  that 
my  only  hope  of  absolution  lies  in  my  imparting 
to  thee  a  secret  which  is  of  vast  importance  to 
the  holy  Church,  and  affects  greatly  her  power, 
wealth,  and  dominion  on  these  shores.  But  the 
terms  of  this  secret  and  the  conditions  of  my  abso- 
lution are  peculiar.  I  have  but  five  minutes  to 
live.  In  that  time  I  must  receive  the  extreme 
unction  of  the  Church." 


308        THE  ADVENTURE   OF  PADRE  VINCENTIO. 

"  And  thy  secret  ?  "  said  the  holy  father. 

"  Shall  be  told  afterwards,"  answered  the  dying 
man.  "Come,  my  time  is  short.  Shrive  me 
quickly." 

The  Padre  hesitated.  "Couldst  thou  not  telj 
this  secret  first?" 

"  Impossible ! "  said  the  dying  man,  with  what 
seemed  to  the  Padre  a  momentary  gleam  of  tri- 
umph. Then,  as  his  breath  grew  feebler,  he  called 
impatiently,  "  Shrive  me !  shrive  me ! " 

"Let  me  know  at  least  what  this  secret  con- 
cerns ? "  suggested  the  Padre,  insinuatingly. 

"  Shrive  me  first,"  said  the  dying  man. 

But  the  priest  still  hesitated,  parleying  with  the 
sufferer  until  the  ship's  bell  struck,  when,  with  a 
triumphant,  mocking  laugh  from  the  stranger,  the 
vessel  suddenly  fell  to  pieces,  amid  the  rushing  of 
waters  which  at  once  involved  the  dying  man,  the 
priest,  and  the  mysterious  stranger. 

The  Padre  did  not  recover  his  consciousness 
until  high  noon  the  next  day,  when  he  found  him- 
self lying  in  a  little  hollow  between  the  Mission 
Hills,  and  his  faithful  mule  a  few  paces  from  him, 
cropping  the  sparse  herbage.  The  Padre  made  the 
best  of  his  way  home,  but  wisely  abstained  from 
narrating  the  facts  mentioned  above,  until  after 
the  discovery  of  gold,  when  the  whole  of  this 
veracious  incident  was  related,  with  the  assertion 
of  the  padre  that  the  secret  which  was  thus  mys- 


THE  ADVENTURE   OF  PADRE   VINCENTIO.     309 

teriously  snatched  from  his  possession  was  nothing 
more  than  the  discovery  of  gold,  years  since,  by  the 
runaway  sailors  from  the  expedition  of  Sir  Francis 
Drake. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT. 

ON  the  northerly  shore  of  San  Francisco  Bay, 
at  a  point  where  the  Golden  Gate  broadens 
into  the  Pacific  stands  a  bluff  promontory.  It 
affords  shelter  from  the  prevailing  winds  to  a  semi- 
circular bay  on  the  east.  Around  this  bay  the 
hillside  is  bleak  and  barren,  but  there  are  traces  of 
former  habitation  in  a  weather-beaten  cabin  and 
deserted  corral.  It  is  said  that  these  were  origi- 
nally built  by  an  enterprising  squatter,  who  for 
some  unaccountable  reason  abandoned  them  shortly 
after.  The  "Jumper"  who  succeeded  him  disap- 
peared one  day,  quite  as  mysteriously.  The  third 
tenant,  who  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  sanguine,  hope- 
ful temperament,  divided  the  property  into  build- 
ing lots,  staked  off  the  hillside,  and  projected  the 
map  of  a  new  metropolis.  Failing,  however,  to 
convince  the  citizens  of  San  Francisco  that  they 
had  mistaken  the  site  of  their  city,  he  presently 
fell  into  dissipation  and  despondency.  He  was 
frequently  observed  haunting  the  narrow  strip  of 
beach  at  low  tide,  or  perched  upon  the  cliff  at 
high  water.  In  the  latter  position  a  sheep-tender 
one  day  found  him,  cold  and  pulseless,  with  a  map 


THE   LEGEND   OF   DEVIL'S   POINT.  311 

of  his  property  in  his  hand,  and  his  face  turned 
toward  the  distant  sea. 

Perhaps  these  circumstances  gave  the  locality 
its  infelicitous  reputation.  Vague  rumors  were 
bruited  of  a  supernatural  influence  that  had  been 
exercised  on  the  tenants.  Strange  stories  were 
circulated  of  the  origin  of  the  diabolical  title  by 
which  the  promontory  was  known.  By  some  it 
was  believed  to  be  haunted  by  the  spirit  of  one  of 
Sir  Francis  Drake's  sailors  who  had  deserted  his 
ship  in  consequence  of  stories  told  by  the  Indians 
of  gold  discoveries,  but  who  had  perished  by  star- 
vation on  the  rocks.  A  vaquero  who  had  once 
passed  a  night  in  the  ruined  cabin,  related  how 
a  strangely  dressed  and  emaciated  figure  had 
knocked  at  the  door  at  midnight  and  demanded  food. 
Other  story-tellers,  of  more  historical  accuracy, 
roundly  asserted  that  Sir  Francis  himself  had  been 
little  better  than  a  pirate,  and  had  chosen  this  spot 
to  conceal  quantities  of  ill-gotten  booty,  taken 
from  neutral  bottoms,  and  had  protected  his  hiding- 
place  by  the  orthodox  means  of  hellish  incantation 
and  diabolic  agencies.  On  moonlight  nights  a 
shadowy  ship  was  sometimes  seen  standing  off-and- 
on,  or  when  fogs  encompassed  sea  and  shore  the 
noise  of  oars  rising  and  falling  in  their  row-locks 
could  be  heard  muffled  and  indistinctly  during  the 
night.  Whatever  foundation  there  might  have 
been  for  these  stories,  it  was  certain  that  a  more 


312  THE  LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT. 

weird  and  desolate-looking  spot  could  not  have 
been  selected  for  their  theatre.  High  hills,  ver- 
dureless  and  enfiladed  with  dark  canadas,  cast  their 
gaunt  shadows  on  the  tide.  During  a  greater  por- 
tion of  the  day  the  wind,  which  blew  furiously  and 
incessantly,  seemed  possessed  with  a  spirit  of  fierce 
disquiet  and  unrest.  Toward  nightfall  the  sea- 
fog  crept  with  soft  step  through  the  portals  of  the 
Golden  Gate,  or  stole  in  noiseless  marches  down 
the  hillside,  tenderly  soothing  the  wind-buffeted 
face  of  the  cliff,  until  sea  and  sky  were  hid  to- 
gether. At  such  times  the  populous  city  beyond 
and  the  nearer  settlement  seemed  removed  to  an  in- 
finite distance.  An  immeasurable  loneliness  settled 
upon  the  cliff.  The  creaking  of  a  windlass,  or  the 
monotonous  chant  of  sailors  on  some  unseen,  out- 
lying ship,  came  faint  and  far,  and  full  of  mystic 
suggestion. 

About  a  year  ago  a  well-to-do  middle-aged 
broker  of  San  Francisco  found  himself  at  night- 
fall the  sole  occupant  of  a  "plunger,"  encom- 
passed in  a  dense  fog,  and  drifting  toward  the 
Golden  Gate.  This  unexpected  termination  of  an 
afternoon's  sail  was  partly  attributable  to  his  want 
of  nautical  skill,  and  partly  to  the  effect  of  his 
usually  sanguine  nature.  Having  given  up  the 
guidance  of  his  boat  to  the  wind  and  tide,  he  had 
trusted  too  implicitly  for  that  reaction  which  his 
business  experience  assured  him  was  certain  to  occur 


THE  LEGEND   OF  DEVIL'S  POINT.  313 

in  all  affairs,  aquatic  as  well  as  terrestrial.  "  The 
tide  will  turn  soon,"  said  the  broker,  confidently,  "  or 
something  will  happen."  He  had  scarcely  settled 
himself  back  again  in  the  stern-sheets,  before  the 
bow  of  the  plunger,  obeying  some  mysterious  im- 
pulse, veered  slowly  around  and  a  dark  object 
loomed  up  before  him.  A  gentle  eddy  carried  the 
boat  further  in  shore,  until  at  last  it  was  complete- 
ly embayed  under  the  lee  of  a  rocky  point  now 
faintly  discernible  through  the  fog.  He  looked 
around  him  in  the  vain  hope  of  recognizing  some 
familiar  headland.  The  tops  of  the  high  hills 
which  rose  on  either  side  were  hidden  in  the  fog. 
As  the  boat  swung  around,  he  succeeded  in  fasten- 
ing a  line  to  the  rocks,  and  sat  down  again  with  a 
feeling  of  renewed  confidence  and  security. 

It  was  very  cold.  The  insidious  fog  penetrated 
his  tightly  buttoned  coat,  and  set  his  teeth  to  chat- 
tering in  spite  of  the  aid  he  sometimes  drew  from 
a  pocket-flask.  His  clothes  were  wet  and  the 
stern-sheets  were  covered  with  spray.  The  com- 
forts of  fire  and  shelter  continually  rose  before  his 
fancy  as  he  gazed  wistfully  on  the  rocks.  In  sheer 
despair  he  finally  drew  the  boat  toward  the  most 
accessible  part  of  the  cliff  and  essayed  to  ascend. 
This  was  less  difficult  than  it  appeared,  and  in  a 
few  moments  he  had  gained  the  hill  above.  A  dark 
object  at  a  little  distance  attracted  his  attention, 
and  on  approaching  it  proved  to  be  a  deserted 


314      THE  LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT 

cabin.  The  story  goes  on  to  say,  that  having  built 
a  roaring  fire  of  stakes  pulled  from  the  adjoining 
corral,  with  the  aid  of  a  flask  of  excellent  brandy, 
he  managed  to  pass  the  early  part  of  the  evening 
with  comparative  comfort. 

There  was  no  door  in  the  cabin,  and  the  windows 
were  simply  square  openings,  which  freely  admit- 
ted  the  searching  fog.  But  in  spite  of  these  dis- 
comforts,—  being  a  man  of  cheerful,  sanguine 
temperament,  —  he  amused  himself  by  poking  the 
fire,  and  watching  the  ruddy  glow  which  the  flames 
threw  on  the  fog  from  the  open  door.  In  this  in- 
nocent occupation  a  great  weariness  overcame  him^ 
and  he  fell  asleep. 

He  was  awakened  at  midnight  by  a  loud  "  haL 
loo,"  which  seemed  to  proceed  directly  from  the 
sea.  Thinking  it  might  be  the  cry  of  some  boat' 
man  lost  in  the  fog,  he  walked  to  the  edge  of  the 
cliff,  but  the  thick  veil  that  covered  sea  and  land 
rendered  all  objects  at  the  distance  of  a  few  feet 
indistinguishable.  He  heard,  however,  the  regu- 
lar strokes  of  oars  rising  and  falling  on  the  water. 
The  halloo  was  repeated.  He  was  clearing  his 
throat  to  reply,  when  to  his  surprise  an  answer 
came  apparently  from  the  very  cabin  he  had  quit- 
ted. Hastily  retracing  his  steps,  he  was  the  more 
amazed,  on  reaching  the  open  door,  to  find  a  stran- 
ger warming  himself  by  the  fire.  Stepping  back 
far  enough  to  conceal  his  own  person,  he  took  a 
cood  look  at  th» 


THE  LEGEND  OF   DEVIL'S  POINT.  315 

He  was  a  man  of  about  forty,  with  a  cadaverous 
face.  But  the  oddity  of  his  dress  attracted  the 
broker's  attention  more  than  his  lugubrious  physi- 
ognomy. His  legs  were  hid  in  enormously  wide 
trousers  descending  to  his  knee,  where  they  met 
long  boots  of  sealskin.  A  pea-jacket  with  exag- 
gerated cuffs,  almost  as  large  as  the  breeches,  cov- 
ered his  chest,  and  around  his  waist  a  monstrous 
belt,  with  a  buckle  like  a  dentist's  sign,  supported 
two  trumpet-mouthed  pistols  and  a  curved  hanger. 
He  wore  a  long  queue,  which  depended  half-way 
down  his  back  As  the  firelight  fell  on  his  in- 
genuous countenance  the  broker  observed  with 
some  concern  that  this  queue  was  formed  entirely 
of  a  kind  of  tobacco,  known  as  pigtail  or  twist. 
Its  effect,  the  broker  remarked,  was  much  height- 
ened when  in  a  moment  of  thoughtful  abstraction 
the  apparition  bit  off  a  portion  of  it,  and  rolled  it 
as  a  quid  into  the  cavernous  recesses  of  his  jaws. 

Meanwhile,  the  nearer  splash  of  oars  indicated 
the  approach  of  the  unseen  boat.  The  broker  had 
barely  time  to  conceal  himself  behind  the  cabin 
before  a  number  of  uncouth-looking  figures  clam- 
bered up  the  hill  toward  the  ruined  rendezvous. 
They  were  dressed  like  the  previous  comer,  who, 
as  they  passed  through  the  open  door,  exchanged 
greetings  with  each  in  antique  phraseology,  be- 
stowing at  the  same  time  some  familiar  nickname. 
Flash-in-the-Pan,  Spitter-of-Frogs,  Malmsey  Butt, 


316  THE  LEGEND   OF  DEVIL'S  POINT. 

Latheyard-Will,  and  Mark-the-Pinker,  were  the 
few  sobriquets  the  broker  remembered.  Whether 
these  titles  were  given  to  express  some  peculiarity 
of  their  owner  he  could  not  tell,  for  a  silence  fol- 
lowed as  they  slowly  ranged  themselves  upon  the 
floor  of  the  cabin  in  a  semicircle  around  their 
cadaverous  host. 

At  length  Malmsey  Butt,  a  spherical-bodied 
man-of-war's-man,  with  a  rubicund  nose,  got  on  his 
legs  somewhat  unsteadily,  and  addressed  himself 
to  the  company.  They  had  met  that  evening,  said 
the  speaker,  in  accordance  with  a  time-honored 
custom.  This  was  simply  to  relieve  that  one  of 
their  number  who  for  fifty  years  had  kept  watch 
and  ward  over  the  locality  where  certain  treasures 
had  been  buried.  At  this  point  the  broker  pricked 
up  his  ears.  "  If  so  be,  camarados  and  brothers 
all,"  he  continued,  "  ye  are  ready  to  receive  the 
report  of  our  excellent  and  well-beloved  brother, 
Master  Slit-the-Weazand,  touching  his  search  for 
this  treasure,  why,  marry,  to  't  and  begin." 

A  murmur  of  assent  went  around  the  circle  as 
the  speaker  resumed  his  seat.  Master  Slit-the- 
Weazand  slowly  opened  his  lantern  jaws,  and 
began.  He  had  spent  much  of  his  time  in  deter- 
mining the  exact  location  of  the  teasure.  He  be- 
lieved —  nay,  he  could  state  positively  —  that  its 
position  was  now  settled.  It  was  true  he  had 
done  some  trifling  little  business  outside.  Modes- 


THE  LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT.      317 

ty  forbade  his  mentioning  the  particulars,  but  he 
would  simply  state  that  of  the  three  tenants  who 
had  occupied  the  cabin  during  the  past  ten  years, 
none  were  now  alive.  [Applause,  and  cries  of 
"  Go  to !  thou  wast  always  a  tall  fellow  ! "  and 
the  like.] 

Mark-the-Pinker  next  arose.  Before  proceeding 
to  business  he  had  a  duty  to  perform  in  the  sacred 
name  of  Friendship.  It  ill  became  him  to  pass  an 
eulogy  upon  the  qualities  of  the  speaker  who  had 
preceded  him,  for  he  had  known  him  from  "  boy- 
hood's hour."  Side  by  side  they  had  wrought  to- 
gether in  the  Spanish  war.  For  a  neat  hand  with 
a  toledo  he  challenged  his  equal,  while  how  nobly 
and  beautifully  he  had  won  his  present  title  of 
Slit-the-Weazand,  all  could  testify.  The  speaker, 
with  some  show  of  emotion,  asked  to  be  pardoned 
if  he  dwelt  too  freely  on  passages  of  their  early 
companionship  ;  he  then  detailed,  with  a  fine  touch 
of  humor,  his  comrade's  peculiar  manner  of  slit- 
ting the  ears  and  lips  of  a  refractory  Jew,  who  had 
been  captured  in  one  of  their  previous  voyages. 
He  would  not  weary  the  patience  of  his  hearers, 
but  would  briefly  propose  that  the  report  of  Slit- 
the-Weazand  be  accepted,  and  that  the  thanks  of 
the  company  be  tendered  him. 

A  beaker  of  strong  spirits  was  then  rolled  into 
the  hut,  and  cans  of  grog  were  circulated  freely 
from  hand  to  hand.  The  health  of  Slit-the-Weaz- 


318  THE  LEGEND   OF  DEVIL'S  POINT. 

and  was  proposed  in  a  neat  speech  by  Mark-the- 
Pinker,  and  responded  to  by  the  former  gentleman 
in  a  manner  that  drew  tears  to  the  eyes  of  all 
present.  To  the  broker,  in  his  concealment,  this 
momentary  diversion  from  the  real  business  of  the 
meeting  occasioned  much  anxiety.  As  yet  nothing 
had  been  said  to  indicate  the  exact  locality  of  the 
treasure  to  which  they  had  mysteriously  alluded. 
Fear  restrained  him  from  open  inquiry,  and  curi- 
osity kept  him  from  making  good  his  escape  during 
the  orgies  which  followed. 

But  his  situation  was  beginning  to  become  criti- 
cal. Flash-in-the-Pan,  who  seemed  to  have  been 
a  man  of  choleric  humor,  taking  fire  during  some 
hotly  contested  argument,  discharged  both  his  pis- 
tols at  the  breast  of  his  opponent.  The  balls 
passed  through  on  each  side  immediately  below  his 
arm-pits,  making  a  clean  hole,  through  which  the 
horrified  broker  could  see  the  firelight  behind  him. 
The  wounded  man,  without  betraying  any  concern, 
excited  the  laughter  of  the  company,  by  jocosely 
putting  his  arms  akimbo,  and  inserting  his  thumbs 
into  the  orifices  of  the  wounds,  as  if  they  had  been 
arm-holes.  This  having  in  a  measure  restored 
good-humor,  the  party  joined  hands  and  formed 
a  circle  preparatory  to  dancing.  The  dance  was 
commenced  by  some  monotonous  stanzas  hummed 
in  a  very  high  key  by  one  of  the  party,  the  rest 
joining  in  the  following  chorus,  which  seemed  to 
present  a  familiar  sound  to  the  broker's  ear. 


THE  LEGEND   OF  DEVIL'S  POINT.  319 

"  Her  Majestie  is  very  sicke, 
Lord  Essex  hath  ye  measles, 
Our  Admiral  hath  licked  ye  French — 
Poppe  !  saith  ye  weasel ! " 

At  the  regular  recurrence  of  the  last  line,  the 
party  discharged  their  loaded  pistols  in  all  direc- 
tions, rendering  the  position  of  the  unhappy  broker 
one  of  extreme  peril  and  perplexity. 

When  the  tumult  had  partially  subsided,  Flash- 
in-the-Pan  called  the  meeting  to  order,  and  most 
of  the  revellers  returned  to  their  places,  Malmsey 
Butt,  however,  insisting  upon  another  chorus,  and 
singing  at  the  top  of  his  voice :  — 

"  I  am  ycleped  J.  Keyser  —  I  was  born  at  Spring,  hys  Garden, 
My  father  toe  make  me  ane  clerke  erst  did  essaye, 
But  a  fieo  for  ye  offis  —  I  spurn  ye  losels  offeire  ; 
For  I  fain  would  be  ane  butcher  by'r  lady  kin  alwaye." 

Flash-in-the-Pan  drew  a  pistol  from  his  belt,  and 
bidding  some  one  gag  Malmsey  Butt  with  the 
stock  of  it,  proceeded  to  read  from  a  portentous 
roll  of  parchment  that  he  held  in  his  hand.  It 
was  a  semi-legal  document,  clothed  in  the  quaint 
phraseology  of  a  bygone  period.  After  a  long 
preamble,  asserting  their  loyalty  as  lieges  of  Her 
most  bountiful  Majesty  and  Sovereign  Lady  the 
Queen,  the  document  declared  that  they  then  and 
there  took  possession  of  the  promontory,  and  all 
the  treasure  trove  therein  contained,  formerly 
buried  by  Her  Majesty's  most  faithful  and  devoted 


320      THE  LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT. 

Admiral  Sir  Francis  Drake,  with  the  right  to 
search,  discover,  and  appropriate  the  same;  and 
for  the  purpose  thereof  they  did  then  and  there 
form  a  guild  or  corporation  to  so  discover,  search 
for,  and  disclose  said  treasures,  and  by  virtue 
thereof  they  solemnly  subscribed  their  names.  But 
at  this  moment  the  reading  of  the  parchment  was 
arrested  by  an  exclamation  from  the  assembly, 
and  the  broker  was  seen  frantically  struggling  at 
the  door  in  the  strong  arms  of  Mark-the-Pinker. 

"  Let  me  go ! "  he  cried,  as  he  made  a  desperate 
attempt  to  reach  the  side  of  Master  Flash-in-the 
Pan.  "  Let  me  go !  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that 
document  is  not  worth  the  parchment  it  is  written 
on.  The  laws  of  the  State,  the  customs  of  the 
country,  the  mining  ordinances,  are  all  against 
it.  Don't,  by  all  that 's  sacred,  throw  away  such 
a  capital  investment  through  ignorance  and  infor- 
mality. Let  me  go  !  I  assure  you,  gentlemen,  pro- 
fessionally, that  you  have  a  big  thing, —  a  remark- 
ably big  thing,  and  even  if  I  ain't  in  it,  I  'm  not 
going  to  see  it  fall  through.  Don't,  for  God's 
sake,  gentlemen,  I  implore  you,  put  your  names  to 
such  a  ridiculous  paper.  There  is  n't  a  notary — " 

He  ceased.  The  figures  around  him,  which  were 
beginning  to  grow  fainter  and  more  indistinct,  as 
he  went  on,  swam  before  his  eyes,  flickered,  reap- 
peared again,  and  finally  went  out.  He  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  gazed  around  him.  The  cabin  was 


THE  LEGEND  OF  DEVIL'S  POINT.  321 

deserted.  On  the  hearth  the  red  embers  of  his 
fire  were  fading  away  in  the  bright  beams  of  the 
morning  sun,  that  looked  aslant  through  the  open 
window.  He  ran  out  to  the  cliff.  The  sturdy 
sea-breeze  fanned  his  feverish  cheeks,  and  tossed 
the  white  caps  of  waves  that  beat  in  pleasant  mu- 
sic on  the  beach  below.  A  stately  merchantman 
with  snowy  canvas  was  entering  the  Gate.  The 
voices  of  sailors  came  cheerfully  from  a  bark  at 
anchor  below  the  point.  The  muskets  of  the  sen- 
tries gleamed  brightly  on  Alcatraz,  and  the  rolling 
of  drums  swelled  on  the  breeze.  Farther  on,  the 
hills  of  San  Francisco,  cottage-crowned  and  bor- 
dered with  wharves  and  warehouses,  met  his  long- 
ing eye. 

Such  is  the  Legend  of  Devil's  Point.  Any  objec- 
tions to  its  reliability  may  be  met  with  the  state- 
ment, that  the  broker  who  tells  the  story  has  since 
incorporated  a  company  under  the  title  of  "  Flash- 
in-the-Pan  Gold  and  Silver  Treasure  Mining  Com- 
pany," and  that  its  shares  are  already  held  at  a 
stiff  figure.  A  copy  of  the  original  document  is 
said  to  be  on  record  in  the  office  of  the  company, 
and  on  any  clear  day  the  locality  of  the  claim 
may  be  distinctly  seen  from  the  hills  of  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

u»  n 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BEOKER 

A  MEDLEVAL  LEGEND. 

THE  church  clocks  in  San  Francisco  were 
striking  ten.  The  Devil,  who  had  been  fly- 
ing over  the  city  that  evening,  just  then  alighted 
on  the  roof  of  a  church  near  the  corner  of  Bush 
and  Montgomery  Streets.  It  will  be  perceived 
that  the  popular  belief  that  the  Devil  avoids  holy 
edifices,  and  vanishes  at  the  sound  of  a  Credo  or 
Pater-noster,  is  long  since  exploded.  Indeed,  mod- 
ern scepticism  asserts  that  he  is  not  averse  to 
these  orthodox  discourses,  which  particularly  bear 
reference  to  himself,  and  in  a  measure  recognize 
his  power  and  importance. 

I  am  inclined  to  think,  however,  that  his  choice 
of  a  resting-place  was  a  good  deal  influenced  by 
its  contiguity  to  a  populous  thoroughfare.  When 
he  was  comfortably  seated,  he  began  pulling  out 
the  joints  of  a  small  rod  which  he  held  in  his  hand, 
and  which  presently  proved  to  be  an  extraordinary 
fishing-pole,  with  a  telescopic  adjustment  that  per- 
mitted its  protraction  to  a  marvellous  extent 
Affixing  a  line  thereto,  he  selected  a  fly  of  a  par- 
ticular pattern  from  a  small  box  which  he  carried 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER.       323 

with  him,  and,  making  a  skilful  cast,  threw  his 
line  into  the  very  centre  of  that  living  stream  which 
ebbed  and  flowed  through  Montgomery  Street. 

Either  the  people  were  very  virtuous  that  even- 
ing or  the  bait  was  not  a  taking  one.  In  vain  the 
Devil  whipped  the  stream  at  an  eddy  in  front  of 
the  Occidental,  or  trolled  his  line  into  the  shadows 
of  the  Cosmopolitan ;  five  minutes  passed  without 
even  a  nibble.  "  Dear  me  ! "  quoth  the  Devil, 
"  that 's  very  singular ;  one  of  my  most  popular 
flies,  too  !  Why,  they  'd  have  risen  by  shoals  in 
Broadway  or  Beacon  Street  for  that.  Well,  here 
goes  another."  And,  fitting  a  new  fly  from  his  well- 
filled  box,  he  gracefully  recast  his  line. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  every  prospect  of 
sport.  The  line  was  continually  bobbing  and  the 
nibbles  were  distinct  and  gratifying.  Once  or 
twice  the  bait  was  apparently  gorged  and  carried 
off  in  the  upper  stories  of  the  hotels  to  be  digested 
at  leisure.  At  such  times  the  professional  man- 
ner in  which  the  Devil  played  out  his  line  would 
have  thrilled  the  heart  of  Izaak  Walton.  But  his 
efforts  were  unsuccessful ;  the  bait  was  invariably 
carried  off  without  hooking  the  victim,  and  the 
Devil  finally  lost  his  temper.  "I've  heard  of 
these  San-Franciscans  before,"  he  muttered ;  "  wait 
till  I  get  hold  of  one,  — that's  all!"  he  added 
malevolently,  as  he  rebaited  his  hook.  A  sharp 
tug  and  a  wriggle  foiled  his  next  trial,  and 


324       THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER. 

finally,  with  considerable  effort,  he  landed  a  portly 
two-hundred-pound  broker  upon  the  church  roof. 

As  the  victim  lay  there  gasping,  it  was  evident 
that  the  Devil  was  in  no  hurry  to  remove  the  hook 
from  his  gills ;  nor  did  he  exhibit  in  this  delicate 
operation  that  courtesy  of  manner  and  graceful 
manipulation  which  usually  distinguished  him. 

"Come,"  he  said,  gruffly,  as  he  grasped  the 
broker  by  the  waistband,  "  quit  that  whining  and 
grunting.  Don't  flatter  yourself  that  you  're  a 
prize  either.  I  was  certain  to  have  had  you.  It  was 
only  a  question  of  time." 

"  It  is  not  that,  my  lord,  which  troubles  me," 
whined  the  unfortunate  wretch,  as  he  painfully 
wriggled  his  head,  "  but  that  I  should  have  been 
fooled  by  such  a  paltry  bait.  What  will  they  say 
of  me  down  there  ?  To  have  let '  bigger  things ' 
go  by,  and  to  be  taken  in  by  this  cheap  trick," 
he  added,  as  he  groaned  and  glanced  at  the  fly 
which  the  Devil  was  carefully  rearranging,  "is 
what,  —  pardon  me,  my  lord,  —  is  what  gets  me  ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Devil,  philosophically,  "  I  never 
caught  anybody  yet  who  did  n't  say  that ;  but  tell 
me,  ain't  you  getting  somewhat  fastidious  down 
there  ?  Here  is  one  of  my  most  popular  flies,  the 
greenback,"  he  continued,  exhibiting  an  emerald- 
looking  insect,  which  he  drew  from  his  box.  "  This, 
so  generally  considered  excellent  in  election  sea- 
Bon,  has  not  even  been  nibbled  at.  Perhaps  youi 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER.       325 

sagacity,  which,  in  spite  of  this  unfortunate  contre- 
temps, no  one  can  doubt,"  added  the  Devil,  with  a 
graceful  return  to  his  usual  courtesy,  "  may  explain 
the  reason  or  suggest  a  substitute." 

The  broker  glanced  at  the  contents  of  the  box 
with  a  supercilious  smile.  "  Too  old-fashioned,  my 
lord,  —  long  ago  played  out.  Yet,"  he  added,  with 
a  gleam  of  interest,  "  for  a  consideration  I  might 
offer  something  —  ahem  !  —  that  would  make  a 
taking  substitute  for  these  trifles.  Give  me,"  he 
continued,  in  a  brisk,  business-like  way,  "  a  slight 
percentage  and  a  bonus  down,  and  I  'm  your  man." 

"  Name  your  terms,"  said  the  Devil,  earnestly. 

"  My  liberty  and  a  percentage  on  all  you  take, 
and  the  thing 's  done." 

The  Devil  caressed  his  tail  thoughtfully,  for  a 
few  moments.  He  was  certain  of  the  broker  any 
way,  and  the  risk  was  slight.  "  Done  ! "  he  said. 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  said  the  artful  broker.  "  There 
are  certain  contingencies.  Give  me  your  fishing- 
rod  and  let  me  apply  the  bait  myself.  It  requires 
a  skilful  hand,  my  lord ;  even  your  well-known 
experience  might  fail.  Leave  me  alone  for  half  an 
hour,  and  if  you  have  reason  to  complain  of  my 
success  I  will  forfeit  my  deposit,  —  I  mean  my 
liberty." 

The  Devil  acceded  to  his  request,  bowed,  and 
withdrew.  Alighting  gracefully  in  Montgomery 
Street,  he  dropped  into  Meade  &  Co.'s  clothing 


$26       THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER. 

store,  where,  having  completely  equipped  himself 
d  la  mode,  he  sallied  forth  intent  on  his  personal 
enjoyment.  Determining  to  sink  his  professional 
character,  he  mingled  with  the  current  of  human 
life,  and  enjoyed,  with  that  immense  capacity  for 
excitement  peculiar  to  his  nature,  the  whirl,  bustle, 
and  feverishness  of  the  people,  as  a  purely  aesthetic 
gratification  unalloyed  by  the  cares  of  business. 
What  he  did  that  evening  does  not  belong  to  our 
story.  "We  return  to  the  broker,  whom  we  left  on 
the  roof. 

When  he  made  sure  that  the  Devil  had  retired, 
he  carefully  drew  from  his  pocket-book  a  slip  of 
paper  and  affixed  it  on  the  hook.  The  line  had 
scarcely  reached  the  current  before  he  felt  a  bite. 
The  hook  was  swallowed.  To  bring  up  his  victim 
rapidly,  disengage  him  from  the  hook,  and  reset  his 
line,  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Another  bite  and 
the  same  result.  Another,  and  another.  In  a  very 
few  minutes  the  roof  was  covered  with  his  panting 
spoil  The  broker  could  himself  distinguish  that 
many  of  them  were  personal  friends ;  nay,  some 
of  them  were  familiar  frequenters  of  the  building 
on  which  they  were  now  miserably  stranded.  That 
the  broker  felt  a  certain  .satisfaction  in  being  in- 
strumental in  thus  misleading  his  fellow-brokers 
no  one  acquainted  with  human  nature  will  for  a 
moment  doubt.  But  a  stronger  pull  on  his  line 
caused  him  to  put  forth  all  his  strength  and  skill 


THE  DEVIL  AND  THE  BROKER       327 

The  magic  pole  bent  like  a  coach-whip.  The  bro- 
ker held  firm,  assisted  by  the  battlements  of  the 
church.  Again  and  again  it  was  almost  wrested 
from  his  hand,  and  again  and  again  he  slowly  reeled 
in  a  portion  of  the  tightening  line.  At  last,  with 
one  mighty  effort,  he  lifted  to  the  level  of  the  roof 
a  struggling  object.  A  howl  like  Pandemonium 
rang  through  the  air  as  the  broker  successfully 
landed  at  his  feet  —  the  Devil  himself ! 

The  two  glared  fiercely  at  each  other.  The 
broker,  perhaps  mindful  of  his  former  treatment, 
evinced  no  haste  to  remove  the  hook  from  his  an- 
tagonist's jaw.  When  it  was  finally  accomplished, 
he  asked  quietly  if  the  Devil  was  satisfied.  That 
gentleman  seemed  absorbed  in  the  contemplation 
of  the  bait  which  he  had  just  taken  from  his  mouth. 
"  I  am,"  he  said,  finally,  "  and  forgive  you ;  but 
what  do  you  call  this  ? " 

"  Bend  low,"  replied  the  broker,  as  he  buttoned 
up  his  coat  ready  to  depart  The  Devil  inclined 
his  ear.  "  I  call  it  WILD  CAT  ! " 


THE  OGEESS  OF  SILVEE  LAND; 

OR, 

THE    DIVERTING    HISTORY    OF    PRINCE    BADFELLAH 
AND  PRINCE  BULLEBOYE. 

IN  the  second  year  of  the  reign  of  the  renowned 
Caliph  Lo  there  dwelt  in  SILVER  LAND,  adjoin- 
ing his  territory,  a  certain  terrible  ogress.  She 
lived  in  the  bowels  of  a  dismal  mountain,  where 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  confining  such  unfortunate 
travellers  as  ventured  within  her  domain.  The 
country  for  miles  around  was  sterile  and  barren. 
In  some  places  it  was  covered  with  a  white  powder, 
which  was  called  in  the  language  of  the  country 
AL  KA  Li,  and  was  supposed  to  be  the  pulverized 
bones  of  those  who  had  perished  miserably  in  her 
service. 

In  spite  of  this,  every  year,  great  numbers  of 
young  men  devoted  themselves  to  the  service  of  the 
ogress,  hoping  to  become  her  godsons,  and  to  enjoy 
the  good  fortune  which  belonged  to  that  privileged 
class.  For  these  godsons  had  no  work  to  perform, 
neither  at  the  mountain  nor  elsewhere,  but  roamed 
about  the  world  with  credentials  of  their  relation- 
ship in  their  pockets,  which  they  called  STOKH, 


THE   OGRESS   OF   SILVER  LAND.  329 

which  was  stamped  with  the  stamp  and  sealed 
with  the  seal  of  the  ogress,  and  which  enabled 
them  at  the  end  of  each  moon  to  draw  large  quanti- 
ties of  gold  and  silver  from  her  treasury.  And  the 
wisest  and  most  favored  of  those  godsons  were  the 
Princes  BADFELLAH  and  BULLEBOYE.  They  knew  all 
the  secrets  of  the  ogress,  and  how  to  wheedle  and 
coax  her.  They  were  also  the  favorites  of  SOOPAH 
INTENDENT,  who  was  her  Lord  High  Chamberlain 
and  Prime  Minister,  and  who  dwelt  in  SILVER 
LAND. 

One  day,  SOOPAH  INTENDENT  said  to  his  ser- 
vants, "  What  is  that  which  travels  the  most  sure- 
ly, the  most  secretly,  and  the  most  swiftly  ? " 

And  they  all  answered  as  one  man,  "  LIGHTNING, 
my  lord,  travels  the  most  surely,  the  most  swiftly, 
and  the  most  secretly ! " 

Then  said  SOOPAH  INTENDENT,  "  Let  Lightning 
carry  this  message  secretly,  swiftly,  and  surely  to 
my  beloved  friends  the  Princes  BADFELLAH  and 
BULLEBOYE,  and  tell  them  that  their  godmother  is 
dying,  and  bid  them  seek  some  other  godmother 
or  sell  their  STOKH  ere  it  becomes  ladjee,  —  worth- 
less." 

"  Bekhesm  !  On  our  heads  be  it ! "  answered 
the  servants  ;  and  they  .ran  to  Lightning  with  the 
message,  who  flew  with  it  to  the  City  by  the  Sea, 
and  delivered  it,  even  at  that  moment,  into  the 
hands  of  the  Princes  BADFELLAH  and  BULLEBOYE. 


330  THE   OGRESS  OF   SILVER   LAND. 

Now  the  Prince  BADFELLAH  was  a  wicked  young 
man ;  and  when  he  had  received  this  message  he 
tore  his  beard  and  rent  his  garment  and  reviled 
his  godmother,  and  his  friend  SOOPAH  INTENDENT. 
But  presently  he  arose,  and  dressed  himself  in  his 
finest  stuffs,  and  went  forth  into  the  bazaars  and 
among  the  merchants,  capering  and  dancing  as 
he  walked,  and  crying  in  a  loud  voice,  "  O,  happy 
day !  0,  day  worthy  to  be  marked  with  a  white 
stone ! " 

This  he  said  cunningly,  thinking  the  merchants 
and  men  of  the  bazaars  would  gather  about  him, 
which  they  presently  did,  and  began  to  question 
him:  "What  news,  0  most  worthy  and  serene 
Highness  ?  Tell  us,  that  we  make  merry  too  ! " 

Then  replied  the  cunning  prince,  "Good  news, 
O  my  brothers,  for  I  have  heard  this  day  that  my 
godmother  in  SILVER  LAND  is  well."  The  mer- 
chants, who  were  not  aware  of  the  substance  of  the 
real  message,  envied  him  greatly,  and  said  one  to 
another :  "  Surely  our  brother  the  Prince  BADFEL- 
LAH is  favored  by  Allah  above  all  men  " ;  and  they 
were  about  to  retire,  when  the  prince  checked 
them,  saying:  "Tarry  for  a  moment.  Here  are 
my  credentials,  or  STOKH.  The  same  I  will  sell 
you  for  fifty  thousand  sequins,  for  I  have  to  give  a 
feast  to-day,  and  need  much  gold.  Who  will  give 
fifty  thousand  ? "  And  he  again  fell  to  capering 
and  dancing.  But  this  time  the  merchants  drew 


THE   OGRESS  OF   SILVER  LAND.  331 

a  little  apart,  and  some  of  the  oldest  and  wisest 
said :  "  What  dirt  is  this  which  the  prince  would 
have  us  swallow  ?  If  his  godmother  were  well, 
why  should  he  sell  his  STOKH  ?  Bismillah  !  The 
olives  are  old  and  the  jar  is  broken!"  When 
Prince  BADFELLAH  perceived  them  whispering,  his 
countenance  fell,  and  his  knees  smote  against  each 
other  through  fear ;  but,  dissembling  again,  he  said : 
"  Well,  so  be  it !  Lo,  I  have  much  more  than  shall 
abide  with  me,  for  my  days  are  many  and  my 
wants  are  few.  Say  forty  thousand  sequins  for  my 
STOKH  and  let  me  depart  in  Allah's  name.  Who 
will  give  forty  thousand  sequins  to  become  the 
godson  of  such  a  healthy  mother  ? "  And  he  again 
fell  to  capering  and  dancing,  but  not  as  gayly  as 
before,  for  his  heart  was  troubled.  The  merchants, 
however,  only  moved  farther  away.  "  Thirty  thou- 
sand sequins,'5  cried  Prince  BADFELLAH  ;  but  even 
as  he  spoke  they  fled  before  his  face,  crying :  "  His 
godmother  is  dead.  Lo,  the  jackals  are  defiling 
her  grave.  Mashalla  !  he  has  no  godmother."  And 
they  sought  out  PANIK,  the  swift-footed  messenger, 
and  bade  him  shout  through  the  bazaars  that  the 
godmother  of  Prince  BADFELLAH  was  dead.  When 
he  heard  this,  the  prince  fell  upon  his  face,  and 
rent  his  garments,  and  covered  himself  with  the 
dust  of  the  market-place.  As  he  was  sitting  thus, 
a  porter  passed  him  with  jars  of  wine  on  his  shoul- 
ders, and  the  prince  begged  him  to  give  him  a  jar, 


332  THE  OGRESS   OF   SILVER  LAND. 

for  he  was  exceeding  thirsty  and  faint.  But  the 
porter  said,  "  What  will  my  lord  give  me  first  ? " 
And  the  prince,  in  very  bitterness  of  spirit,  said, 
"Take  this,"  and  handed  him  his  STOKH,  and  so 
exchanged  it  for  a  jar  of  wine. 

Now  the  Prince  BULLEBOYE  was  of  a  very  differ- 
ent disposition.  When  he  received  the  message 
of  SOOPAH  INTENDENT  he  bowed  his  head,  and  said, 
"  It  is  the  will  of  God."  Then  he  rose,  and  with- 
out speaking  a  word  entered  the  gates  of  his  palace. 
But  his  wife,  the  peerless  MAREE  JAHANN,  per- 
ceiving the  gravity  of  his  countenance,  said,  "  Why 
is  my  lord  cast  down  and  silent  ?  Why  are  those 
rare  and  priceless  pearls,  his  words,  shut  up  so 
tightly  between  those  gorgeous  oyster-shells,  his 
lips  ? "  But  to  this  he  made  no  reply.  Thinking 
further  to  divert  him,  she  brought  her  lute  into 
the  chamber  and  stood  before  him,  and  sang  the 
song  and  danced  the  dance  of  BEN  KOTTON,  which 
is  called  IBRAHIM'S  DAUGHTER,  but  she  could  not 
lift  the  veil  of  sadness  from  his  brow. 

When  she  had  ceased,  the  Prince  BULLEBOYE 
arose  and  said,  "  Allah  is  great,  and  what  am  I,  his 
servant,  but  the  dust  of  the  earth  !  Lo,  this  day 
has  my  godmother  sickened  unto  death,  and  my 
STOKH  become  as  a  withered  palm -leaf.  Call  hither 
my  servants  and  camel-drivers,  and  the  merchants 
that  have  furnished  me  with  stuffs,  and  the  beg- 
gars who  have  feasted  at  my  table,  and  bid  them 


THE   OGRESS   OF   SILVER  LAND.  333 

take  all  that  is  here,  for  it  is  mine  no  longer!" 
With  these  words  he  buried  his  face  in  his  mantle 
and  wept  aloud. 

But  MAREE  JAHANN,  his  wife,  plucked  him  by 
the  sleeve.  "  Prithee,  my  lord,"  said  she,  "  bethink 
thee  of  the  BROKAH  or  scrivener,  who  besought 
thee  but  yesterday  to  share  thy  STOKH  with  him 
and  gave  thee  his  bond  for  fifty  thousand  se- 
quins." But  the  noble  Prince  BULLEBOYE,  rais- 
ing his  head,  said :  "  Shall  I  sell  to  him  for  fifty 
thousand  sequins  that  which  1  know  is  not  worth 
a  Soo  MARKEE  ?  For  is  not  all  the  BROKAH'S 
wealth,  even  his  wife  and  children,  pledged  on 
that  bond?  Shall  I  ruin  him  to  save  myself? 
Allah  forbid !  Eather  let  me  eat  the  salt  fish  of 
honest  penury,  than  the  kibobs  of  dishonorable 
affluence;  rather  let  me  wallow  in  the  mire  of 
virtuous  oblivion,  than  repose  on  the  divan  of  lux- 
urious wickedness." 

When  the  prince  had  given  utterance  to  this 
beautiful  and  edifying  sentiment,  a  strain  of  gentle 
music  was  heard,  and  the  rear  wall  of  the  apart- 
ment, which  had  been  ingeniously  constructed  like 
a  flat,  opened  and  discovered  the  Ogress  of  SILVER 
LAND  in  the  glare  of  blue  fire,  seated  on  a  triumphal 
car  attached  to  two  ropes  which  were  connected 
with  the  flies,  in  the  very  act  of  blessing  the  un- 
conscious prince.  When  the  walls  closed  again 
without  attracting  his  attention,  Prince  BULLEBOYE 


334  THE   OGRESS   OF  SILVER  LAND. 

arose,  dressed  himself  in  his  coarsest  and  cheap* 
est  stuffs,  and  sprinkled  ashes  on  his  head,  and  in 
this  guise,  having  embraced  his  wife,  went  forth 
into  the  bazaars.  In  this  it  will  be  perceived  how 
differently  the  good  Prince  BULLEBOYE  acted  from 
the  wicked  Prince  BADFELLAH,  who  put  on  his  gay- 
est garments  to  simulate  and  deceive. 

Now  when  Prince  BULLEBOYE  entered  the  chief 
bazaar,  where  the  merchants  of  the  city  were  gath- 
ered in  council,  he  stood  up  in  his  accustomed 
place,  and  all  that  were  there  held  their  breath,  for 
the  noble  Prince  BULLEBOYE  was  much  respected. 
"  Let  the  BROKAH,  whose  bond  I  hold  for  fifty  thou- 
sand sequins,  stand  forth  ! "  said  the  prince.  And 
the  BROKAH  stood  forth  from  among  the  merchants. 
Then  said  the  prince :  "  Here  is  thy  bond  for  fifty 
thousand  sequins,  for  which  I  was  to  deliver  unto 
thee  one  half  of  my  STOKH.  Know,  then,  0  my 
brother,  —  and  thou,  too,  0  Aga  of  the  BROKAHS,  — 
that  this  my  STOKH  which  I  pledged  to  thee  is  worth- 
less. For  my  godmother,  the  Ogress  of  SILVER 
LAND,  is  dying.  Thus  do  I  release  thee  from  thy 
bond,  and  from  the  poverty  which  might  overtake 
thee  as  it  has  even  me,  thy  brother,  the  Prince 
BULLEBOYE."  And  with  that  the  noble  Prince 
BULLEBOYE  tore  the  bond  of  the  BROKAH  into  pieces 
and  scattered  it  to  the  four  winds. 

Now  when  the  prince  tore  up  the  bond  there  was 
a  great  commotion,  and  some  said,  "  Surely  the 


THE   OGRESS   OF   SILVER  LAND.  335 

Prince  BULLEBOYE  is  drunken  with  wine "  ;  and 
others,  "  He  is  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit "  ;  and 
his  friends  expostulated  with  him,  saying,  "  What 
thou  hast  done  is  not  the  custom  of  the  bazaars,  — 
behold,  it  is  not  Biz ! "  But  to  all  the  prince 
answered  gravely,  "  It  is  right ;  on  my  own  head 
be  it ! " 

But  the  oldest  and  wisest  of  the  merchants,  they 
who  had  talked  with  Prince  BADFELLAH  the  same 
morning,  whispered  together,  and  gathered  around 
the  BROKAH  whose  bond  the  Prince  BULLEBOYE  had 
torn  up.  "  Hark  ye,"  said  they,  "  our  brother  the 
Prince  BULLEBOYE  is  cunning  as  a  jackal.  What 
bosh  is  this  about  ruining  himself  to  save  thee  ? 
Such  a  thing  was  never  heard  before  in  the  bazaars. 
It  is  a  trick,  O  thou  mooncalf  of  a  BROKAH  !  Dost 
thou  not  see  that  he  has  heard  good  news  from  his 
godmother,  the  same  that  was  even  now  told  us  by 
the  Prince  BADFELLAH,  his  confederate,  and  that  he 
would  destroy  thy  bond  for  fifty  thousand  sequins 
because  his  STOKH  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand  ! 
Be  not  deceived,  0  too  credulous  BROKAH  !  for  this 
what  our  brother  the  prince  doeth  is  not  in  the 
name  of  ALLAH,  but  of  Biz,  the  only  god  known 
in  the  bazaars  of  the  city." 

When  the  foolish  BROKAH  heard  these  things  he 
cried,  "Justice,  0  Aga  of  the  BROKAHS, — justice 
and  the  fulfilment  of  my  bond !  Let  the  prince 
deliver  unto  me  the  STOKH.  Here  are  my  fifty 


336  THE   OGRESS   OF   SILVER   LAND. 

thousand  sequins."  But  the  prince  said,  "  Have  I 
not  told  that  my  godmother  is  dying,  and  that  my 
STOKH  is  valueless  ?  "  At  this  the  BROKAH  only 
clamored  the  more  for  justice  and  the  fulfilment 
of  his  bond.  Then  the  Aga  of  the  BROKAHS  said, 
"  Since  the  bond  is  destroyed,  behold  thou  hast  no 
claim.  Go  thy  ways ! "  But  the  BROKAH  again 
cried,  "  Justice,  my  lord  Aga  !  Behold,  I  offer  the 
prince  seventy  thousand  sequins  for  his  STOKH  ! " 
But  the  prince  said,  "  It  is  not  worth  one  sequin ! " 
Then  the  Aga  said,  "  Bismillah  !  I  cannot  under- 
stand this.  Whether  thy  godmother  be  dead,  or 
dying,  or  immortal,  does  not  seem  to  signify. 
Therefore,  0  prince,  by  the  laws  of  Biz  and  of 
ALLAH,  thou  art  released.  Give  the  BROKAH  thy 
STOKH  for  seventy  thousand  sequins,  and  bid  him 
depart  in  peace.  On  his  own  head  be  it !  "  When 
the  prince  heard  this  command,  he  handed  his 
STOKH  to  the  BROKAH,  who  counted  out  to  him 
seventy  thousand  sequins.  But  the  heart  of  the 
virtuous  prince  did  not  rejoice,  nor  did  the  BRO- 
KAH, when  he  found  his  STOKH  was  valueless ;  but 
the  merchants  lifted  their  hands  in  wonder  at  the 
sagacity  and  wisdom  of  the  famous  Prince  BULLE- 
BOYE.  For  none  would  believe  that  it  was  the  law 
of  ALLAH  that  the  prince  followed,  and  not  the 
rules  of  Biz. 


THE  BUINS   OF  SAN  FRANCISCO. 

TOWARDS  the  close  of  the  nineteenth  century 
the  city  of  San  Francisco  was  totally  ingulfed 
by  an  earthquake.  Although  the  whole  coast-line 
must  have  been  much  shaken,  the  accident  seems 
to  have  been  purely  local,  and  even  the  city  of 
Oakland  escaped.  Schwappelfurt,  the  celebrated 
German  geologist,  has  endeavored  to  explain  this 
singular  fact  by  suggesting  that  there  are  some 
things  the  earth  cannot  swallow,  —  a  statement 
that  should  be  received  with  some  caution,  as  ex- 
ceeding the  latitude  of  ordinary  geological  specu- 
lation. 

Historians  disagree  in  the  exact  date  of  the 
calamity.  Tulu  Krish,  the  well-known  New-Zea- 
lander,  whose  admirable  speculations  on  the  ruins 
of  St.  Paul  as  seen  from  London  Bridge  have  won 
for  him  the  attentive  consideration  of  the  scien- 
tific world,  fixes  the  occurrence  in  A.  D.  1880. 
This,  supposing  the  city  to  have  been  actually 
founded  in  1850,  as  asserted,  would  give  but  thirty 
years  for  it  to  have  assumed  the  size  and  propor- 
tions it  had  evidently  attained  at  the  time  of  its 
destruction.  It  is  not  our  purpose,  however,  to 

15  v 


338  THE  RUINS   OF   SAN  FRANCISCO. 

question  the  conclusions  of  the  justly  famed  Ma- 
orian  philosopher.  Our  present  business  lies  with 
the  excavations  that  are  now  being  prosecuted  by 
order  of  the  Hawaiian  government  upon  the  site 
of  the  lost  city. 

Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  story  of  its  dis- 
covery. For  many  years  the  bay  of  San  Francisco 
had  been  famed  for  the  luscious  quality  of  its 
oysters.  It  is  stated  that  a  dredger  one  day  raked 
up  a  large  bell,  which  proved  to  belong  to  the  City 
Hall,  and  led  to  the  discovery  of  the  cupola  of 
that  building.  The  attention  of  the  government 
was  at  once  directed  to  the  spot.  The  bay  of  San 
Francisco  was  speedily  drained  by  a  system  of 
patent  siphons,  and  the  city,  deeply  embedded  in 
mud,  brought  to  light  after  a  burial  of  many  cen- 
turies. The  City  Hall,  Post-Office,  Mint,  and  Cus- 
tom-House  were  readily  recognized  by  the  large 
full-fed  barnacles  which  adhered  to  their  walls. 
Shortly  afterwards  the  first  skeleton  was  discov- 
ered ;  that  of  a  broker,  whose  position  in  the  up- 
per strata  of  mud  nearer  the  surface  was  supposed 
to  be  owing  to  the  exceeding  buoyancy  or  inflation 
of  scrip  which  he  had  secured  about  his  person 
while  endeavoring  to  escape.  Many  skeletons, 
supposed  to  be  those  of  females,  encompassed  in 
that  peculiar  steel  coop  or  cage  which  seems  to 
have  been  worn  by  the  women  of  that  period, 
were  also  found  in  the  upper  stratum.  Alexis 


THE  RUINS   OF   SAN  FEANCISCO.  339 

von  Puffer,  in  his  admirable  work  on  San  Fran- 
cisco, accounts  for  the  position  of  these  unfortu- 
nate creatures  by  asserting  that  the  steel  cage  was 
originally  the  frame  of  a  parachute-like  garment 
which  distended  the  skirt,  and  in  the  submersion 
of  the  city  prevented  them  from  sinking.  "If 
anything,"  says  Von  Puffer,  "  could  have  been 
wanting  to  add  intensity  to  the  horrible  catastro- 
phe which  took  place  as  the  waters  first  erf,ered 
the  city,  it  would  have  been  furnished  in  the 
forcible  separation  of  the  sexes  at  this  trying  mo- 
ment. Buoyed  up  by  their  peculiar  garments,  the 
female  population  instantly  ascended  to  the  sur- 
face. As  the  drowning  husband  turned  his  eyes 
above,  what  must  have  been  his  agony  as  he  saw 
his  wife  shooting  upward,  and  knew  that  he  was 
debarred  the  privilege  of  perishing  with  her  ?  To 
the  lasting  honor  of  the  male  inhabitants,  be  it 
said  that  but  few  seemed  to  have  availed  them- 
selves of  their  wives'  superior  levity.  Only  one 
skeleton  was  found  still  grasping  the  ankles  of 
another  in  their  upward  journey  to  the  surface." 

For  many  years  California  had  been  subject  to 
slight  earthquakes,  more  or  less  generally  felt,  but 
not  of  sufficient  importance  to  awaken  anxiety  or 
fear.  Perhaps  the  absorbing  nature  of  the  San- 
Franciscans'  pursuits  of  gold-getting,  which  metal 
seems  to  have  been  valuable  in  those  days,  and 
actually  used  as  a  medium  of  currency,  rendered 


340  THE  RUINS   OF   SAN  FRANCISCO. 

the  inhabitants  reckless  of  all  other  matters. 
Everything  tends  to  show  that  the  calamity  was 
totally  unlocked  for.  We  quote  the  graphic  lan- 
guage of  Schwappelfurt : — 

"  The  morning  of  the  tremendous  catastrophe 
probably  dawned  upon  the  usual  restless  crowd  of 
gold-getters  intent  upon  their  several  avocations. 
The  streets  were  filled  with  the  expanded  figures 
of  gayly  dressed  women,  acknowledging  with  coy 
glances  the  respectful  salutations  of  beaux  as  they 
gracefully  raised  their  remarkable  cylindrical  head- 
coverings,  a  model  of  which  is  still  preserved  in 
the  Honolulu  Museum.  The  brokers  had  gath- 
ered at  their  respective  temples.  The  shopmen 
were  exhibiting  their  goods.  The  idlers,  or  '  Bum- 
mers,' —  a  term  applied  to  designate  an  aristocratic, 
privileged  class  who  enjoyed  immunities  from  la- 
bor, and  from  whom  a  majority  of  the  rulers  are 
chosen,  —  were  listlessly  regarding  the  prome- 
naders  from  the  street-corners  or  the  doors  of 
their  bibulous  temples.  A  slight  premonitory 
thrill  runs  through  the  city.  The  busy  life  of 
this  restless  microcosm  is  arrested.  The  shop- 
keeper pauses  as  he  elevates  the  goods  to  bring 
them  into  a  favorable  light,  and  the  glib  profes- 
sional recommendation  sticks  on  his  tongue.  In 
the  drinking-saloon  the  glass  is  checked  half-way 
to  the  lips  ;  on  the  streets  the  promenaders  pause. 
Another  thrill,  and  the  city  begins  to  go  down,  a 


THE  RUINS   OF  SAN  FRANCISCO.  341 

few  of  the  more  persistent  topers  tossing  off  their 
liquor  at  the  same  moment.  Beyond  a  terrible 
sensation  of  nausea,  the  crowds  who  now  throng 
the  streets  do  not  realize  the  extent  of  the  catas- 
trophe. The  waters  of  the  bay  recede  at  first 
from  the  centre  of  depression,  assuming  a  concave 
shape,  the  outer  edge  of  the  circle  towering  many 
thousand  feet  above  the  city.  Another  convul- 
sion, and  the  water  instantly  resumes  its  level 
The  city  is  smoothly  ingulfed  nine  thousand  feet 
below,  and  the  regular  swell  of  the  Pacific  calmly 
rolls  over  it.  Terrible,"  says  Schwappelfurt,  in 
conclusion,  "  as  the  calamity  must  have  been,  in 
direct  relation  to  the  individuals  immediately  con- 
cerned therein,  we  cannot  but  admire  its  artistic 
management ;  the  division  of  the  catastrophe  into 
three  periods,  the  completeness  of  the  cataclysms, 
and  the  rare  combination  of  sincerity  of  intention 
with  felicity  of  execution." 


A  NIGHT  AT   WINGDAM. 

I  HAD  been  stage-ridden  and  bewildered  all  day, 
and  when  we  swept  down  with  the  darkness 
into  the  Arcadian  hamlet  of  "  Wingdam,"  I  resolved 
to  go  no  farther,  and  rolled  out  in  a  gloomy  and 
dyspeptic  state.  The  effects  of  a  mysterious  pie, 
and  some  sweetened  carbonic  acid  known  to  the 
proprietor  of  the  "  Half- Way  House  "  as  "  lemming 
sody,"  still  oppressed  me.  Even  the  facetiae  of  the 
gallant  expressman  who  knew  everybody's  Christian 
name  along  the  route,  who  rained  letters,  news- 
papers, and  bundles  from  the  top  of  the  stage,  whose 
legs  frequently  appeared  in  frightful  proximity  to 
the  wheels,  who  got  on  and  off  while  we  were 
going  at  full  speed,  whose  gallantry,  energy,  and 
superior  knowledge  of  travel  crushed  all  us  other 
passengers  to  envious  silence,  and  who  just  then 
was  talking  with  several  persons  and  manifestly 
doing  something  else  at  the  same  time,  —  even  this 
had  failed  to  interest  me.  So  I  stood  gloomily, 
clutching  my  shawl  and  carpet-bag,  and  watched 
the  stage  roll  away,  taking  a  parting  look  at  the 
gallant  expressman  as  he  hung  on  the  top  rail  with 
one  leg,  and  lit  his  cigar  from  the  pipe  of  a  running 


A  NTGHT   AT   WINGDAM.  343 

footman.     I   then  turned  toward  the  Wingdam 
Temperance  Hotel. 

It  may  have  been  the  weather,  or  it  may  have 
been  the  pie,  but  I  was  not  impressed  favorably 
with  the  house.  Perhaps  it  was  the  name  extend- 
ing the  whole  length  of  the  building,  with  a  letter 
under  each  window,  making  the  people  who  looked 
out  dreadfully  conspicuous.  Perhaps  it  was  that 
"  Temperance  "  always  suggested  to  my  mind  rusks 
and  weak  tea.  It  was  uninviting.  It  might  have 
been  called  the  "  Total  Abstinence  "  Hotel,  from 
the  lack  of  anything  to  intoxicate  or  inthrall  the 
senses.  It  was  designed  with  an  eye  to  artistic 
dreariness.  It  was  so  much  too  large  for  the  settle- 
ment, that  it  appeared  to  be  a  very  slight  improve- 
ment on  out-doors.  It  was  unpleasantly  new. 
There  was  the  forest  flavor  of  dampness  about  it, 
and  a  slight  spicing  of  pine.  Nature  outraged,  but 
not  entirely  subdued,  sometimes  broke  out  afresh  in 
little  round,  sticky,  resinous  tears  on  the  doors  and 
windows.  It  seemed  to  me  that  boarding  there  must 
seem  like  a  perpetual  picnic.  As  I  entered  the 
door,  a  number  of  the  regular  boarders  rushed  out 
of  a  long  room,  and  set  about  trying  to  get  the 
taste  of  something  out  of  their  mouths,  by  the  ap- 
plication of  tobacco  in  various  forms.  A  few  im- 
mediately ranged  themselves  around  the  fireplace, 
with  their  legs  over  each  other's  chairs,  and  in  that 
position  silently  resigned  themselves  to  indigestion. 


344  A   NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM. 

Remembering  the  pie,  I  waived  the  invitation  of 
the  landlord  to  supper,  but  suffered  myself  to  be 
conducted  into  the  sitting-room.  "  Mine  host "  was 
a  magnificent-looking,  heavily  bearded  specimen 
of  the  animal  man.  He  reminded  me  of  somebody 
or  something  connected  with  the  drama.  I  was 
sitting  beside  the  fire,  mutely  wondering  what  it 
could  be,  and  trying  to  follow  the  particular  chord 
of  memory  thus  touched,  into  the  intricate  past, 
when  a  little  delicate-looking  woman  appeared  at 
the  door,  and,  leaning  heavily  against  the  casing, 
said  in  an  exhausted  tone,  "  Husband  ! "  As  the 
landlord  turned  toward  her,  that  particular  remem- 
brance flashed  before  me  in  a  single  line  of  blank 
verse.  It  was  this :  "  Two  souls  with  but  one  single 
thought,  two  hearts  that  beat  as  one." 

It  was  Ingomar  and  Parthenia  his  wife.  I  im- 
agined a  different  denouement  from  the  play.  In- 
gomar had  taken  Parthenia  back  to  the  mountains, 
and  kept  a  hotel  for  the  benefit  of  the  Alemanni, 
who  resorted  there  in  large  numbers.  Poor  Parthe- 
nia was  pretty  well  fagged  out,  and  did  all  the  work 
without  "help."  She  had  two  "young  barbari- 
ans," a  boy  and  a  girl.  She  was  faded,  but  still 
good-looking. 

I  sat  and  talked  with  Ingomar,  who  seemed  per- 
fectly at  home  and  told  me  several  stories  of  the 
Alemanni,  all  bearing  a  strong  flavor  of  the  wilder- 
ness, and  being  perfectly  in  keeping  with  the  house. 


A   NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM.  345 

How  he,  Ingomar,  had  killed  a  certain  dreadful 
"  bar,"  whose  skin  was  just  up  "  yar,"  over  his  bed. 
How  he,  Ingomar,  had  killed  several  "bucks,'' 
whose  skins  had  been  prettily  fringed  and  em- 
broidered by  Parthenia,  and  even  now  clothed  him. 
How  he,  Ingomar,  had  killed  several  "  Injins,"  and 
was  once  nearly  scalped  himself.  All  this  with 
that  ingenious  candor  which  is  perfectly  justifiable 
in  a  barbarian,  but  which  a  Greek  might  feel  in- 
clined to  look  upon  as  "  blowing."  Thinking  of 
the  wearied  Parthenia,  I  began  to  consider  for  the? 
first  time  that  perhaps  she  had  better  married  the 
old  Greek.  Then  she  would  at  least  have  always 
looked  neat.  Then  she  would  not  have  worn  a 
woollen  dress  flavored  with  all  the  dinners  of  the 
past  year.  Then  she  would  not  have  been  obliged 
to  wait  on  the  table  with  her  hair  half  down.  Then 
the  two  children  would  not  have  hung  about  her 
skirts  with  dirty  fingers,  palpably  dragging  hev 
down  day  by  day.  I  suppose  it  was  the  pie  which 
put  such  heartless  and  improper  ideas  in  my  head, 
and  so  I  rose  up  and  told  Ingomar  .1  believed  I'd 
go  to  bed.  Preceded  by  that  redoubtable  barbarian 
and  a  flaring  tallow  candle,  I  followed  him  up 
stairs  to  my  room.  It  was  the  only  single  room 
he  had,  he  told  me ;  he  had  built  it  for  the  con- 
venience of  married  parties  who  might  stop  here, 
but,  that  event  not  happening  yet,  he  had  left  it 
half -furnished.  It  had  cloth  on  one  side,  and  large 

15* 


346  A   NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM. 

cracks  on  the  other.  The  wind,  which  always  swept 
over  Wingdam  at  night-time,  puffed  through  the 
apartment  from  different  apertures.  The  window 
was  too  small  for  the  hole  in  the  side  of  the  house 
where  it  hung,  and  rattled  noisily.  Everything 
looked  cheerless  and  dispiriting.  Before  Ingomar 
left  me,  he  brought  that  "  bar-skin,"  and  throwing 
it  over  the  solemn  bier  which  stood  in  one  corner, 
told  me  he  reckoned  that  would  keep  me  warm, 
and  then  bade  me  good  night.  I  undressed  myself, 
the  light  blowing  out  in  the  middle  of  that  cere- 
mony, crawled  under  the  "  bar-skin,"  and  tried  to 
compose  myself  to  sleep. 

But  I  was  staringly  wide  awake.  I  heard  the 
wind  sweep  down  the  mountain-side,  and  toss  the 
branches  of  the  melancholy  pine,  and  then  enter 
the  house,  and  try  all  the  doors  along  the  passage. 
Sometimes  strong  currents  of  air  blew  my  hair  all 
over  the  pillow,  as  with  strange  whispering  breaths. 
The  green  timber  along  the  walls  seemed  to  be 
sprouting,  and  sent  a  dampness  even  through  the 
"  bar-skin."  I  felt  like  Eobinson  Crusoe  in  his 
tree,  with  the  ladder  pulled  up,  —  or  like  the 
rocked  baby  of  the  nursery  song.  After  lying 
awake  half  an  hour,  I  regretted  having  stopped 
at  Wingdam ;  at  the  end  of  the  third  quarter,  I 
wished  I  had  not  gone  to  bed ;  and  when  a  restless 
hour  passed,  I  got  up  and  dressed  myself.  There 
had  been  a  fire  down  in  the  big  room.  Perhaps  it 


A  NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM.  347 

was  still  burning.  I  opened  the  door  and  groped 
my  way  along  the  passage,  vocal  with  the  snores 
of  the  Alemanni  and  the  whistling  of  the  night 
wind ;  I  partly  fell  down  stairs,  and  at  last  enter- 
ing the  big  room,  saw  the  fire  still  burning.  I 
drew  a  chair  toward  it,  poked  it  with  my  foot,  and 
was  astonished  to  see,  by  the  upspringing  flash, 
that  Parthenia  was  sitting  there  also,  holding  a 
faded-looking  baby. 

I  asked  her  why  she  was  sitting  up. 

"She  did  not  go  to  bed  on  Wednesday  night 
before  the  mail  arrived,  and  then  she  awoke  her 
husband,  and  there  were  passengers  to  'tend  to." 

"  Did  she  not  get  tired  sometimes  ? " 

"  A  little,  but  Abner  "  (the  barbarian's  Christian 
name)  "  had  promised  to  get  her  more  help  next 
spring,  if  business  was  good." 

"  How  many  boarders  had  she  ? " 

"  She  believed  about  forty  came  to  regular  meals, 
and  there  was  transient  custom,  which  was  as  much 
as  she  and  her  husband  could  'tend  to.  But  he 
did  a  great  deal  of  work." 

"  What  work  ? " 

"  0,  bringing  in  the  wood,  and  looking  after  the 
traders'  things." 

"  How  long  had  she  been  married  ? " 

"About  nine  years.  She  had  lost  a  little  girl 
and  boy.  Three  children  living.  He  was  from 
Illinois.  She  from  Boston.  Had  an  education 


348  A   NIGHT   AT    WINGDAM. 

(Boston  Female  High  School,  —  Geometry,  Alge- 
bra, a  little  Latin  and  Greek).  Mother  and  father 
died.  Came  to  Illinois  alone,  to  teach  school 
Saw  him  —  yes  —  a  love  match."  ("  Two  souls," 
etc.,  etc.)  "  Married  and  emigrated  to  Kansas. 
Thence  across  the  Plains  to  California.  Always 
on  the  outskirts  of  civilization.  He  liked  it. 

"  She  might  sometimes  have  wished  to  go  home. 
Would  like  to  on  account  of  her  children.  Would 
like  to  give  them  an  education.  Had  taught  them 
a  little  herself,  but  couldn't  do  much  on  account 
of  other  work.  Hoped  that  the  boy  would  be  like 
his  father,  strong  and  hearty.  Was  fearful  the 
girl  would  be  more  like  her.  Had  often  thought 
she  was  not  fit  for  a  pioneer's  wife." 

"Why?" 

"  O,  she  was  not  strong  enough,  and  had  seen 
some  of  his  friends'  wives  in  Kansas  who  could 
do  more  work.  But  he  never  complained,  —  he 
was  so  kind."  ("  Two  souls,"  etc.) 

Sitting  there  with  her  head  leaning  pensively  on 
one  hand,  holding  the  poor,  wearied,  and  limp- 
looking  baby  wearily  on  the  other  arm,  dirty, 
drabbled,  and  forlorn,  with  the  firelight  playing 
upon  her  features  no  longer  fresh  or  young,  but 
still  refined  and  delicate,  and  even  in  her  grotesque 
slovenliness  still  bearing  a  faint  reminiscence  of 
birth  and  breeding,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  that 
I  did  not  fall  into  excessive  raptures  over  the  bar- 


A  NIGHT  AT   WINGDAM.  349 

barian's  kindness.  Emboldened  by  my  sympathy, 
she  told  me  how  she  had  given  up,  little  by  little, 
what  she  imagined  to  be  the  weakness  of  her  early 
education,  until  she  found  that  she  acquired  but 
little  strength  in  her  new  experience.  How,  trans- 
lated to  a  backwoods  society,  she  was  hated  by  the 
women,  and  called  proud  and  "  fine,"  and  how  her 
dear  husband  lost  popularity  on  that  account  with 
his  fellows.  How,  led  partly  by  his  roving  in- 
stincts, and  partly  from  other  circumstances,  he 
started  with  her  to  California.  An  account  of  that 
tedious  journey.  How  it  was  a  dreary,  dreary 
waste  in  her  memory,  only  a  blank  plain  marked 
by  a  little  cairn  of  stones,  —  a  child's  grave.  How 
she  had  noticed  that  little  Willie  failed.  How  she 
had  called  Abner's  attention  to  it,  but,  man-like, 
he  knew  nothing  about  children,  and  pooh-poohed 
it,  and  was  worried  by  the  stock.  How  it  hap- 
pened that  after  they  had  passed  Sweetwater,  she 
was  walking  beside  the  wagon  one  night,  and  look- 
ing at  the  western  sky,  and  she  heard  a  little  voice 
say  "Mother."  How  she  looked  into  the  wagon 
and  saw  that  little  Willie  was  sleeping  comfortably 
and  did  not  wish  to  wake  him.  How  that  in  a 
few  moments  more  she  heard  the  same  voice  say- 
ing "  Mother."  How  she  came  back  to  the  wagon 
and  leaned  down  over  him,  and  felt  his  breath 
upon  her  face,  and  again  covered  him  up  tenderly, 
and  once  more  resumed  her  weary  journey  beside 


350  A  NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM. 

him,  praying  to  God  for  his  recovery.  How  with 
her  face  turned  to  the  sky  she  heard  the  same 
voice  saying  "  Mother,"  and  directly  a  great  bright 
star  shot  away  from  its  brethren  and  expired. 
And  how  she  knew  what  had  happened,  and  ran  to 
the  wagon  again  only  to  pillow  a  little  pinched 
and  cold  white  face  upon  her  weary  bosom.  The 
thin  red  hands  went  up  to  her  eyes  here,  and  for 
a  few  moments  she  sat  still.  The  wind  tore  round 
the  house  and  made  a  frantic  rush  at  the  front 
door,  and  from  his  couch  of  skins  in  the  inner 
room  —  Ingomar,  the  barbarian,  snored  peacefully. 

"  Of  course  she  always  found  a  protector  from  in- 
sult and  outrage  in  the  great  courage  and  strength 
of  her  husband  ? " 

"  0  yes ;  when  Ingomar  was  with  her  she  feared 
nothing.  But  she  was  nervous  and  had  been 
frightened  once ! " 

"How?" 

"  They  had  just  arrived  in  California.  They  kept 
house  then,  and  had  to  sell  liquor  to  traders.  In- 
gomar was  hospitable,  and  drank  with  everybody, 
for  the  sake  of  popularity  and  business,  and  Ingo- 
mar got  to  like  liquor,  and  was  easily  affected  by 
it.  And  how  one  night  there  was  a  boisterous 
crowd  in  the  bar-room  ;  she  went  in  and  tried  to 
get  him  away,  but  only  succeeded  in  awakening 
the  coarse  gallantry  of  the  half-crazed  revellers. 
And  how,  when  she  had  at  last  got  him  in  the 


A   NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM.  351 

room  with  her  frightened  children,  he  sank  down 
on  the  bed  in  a  stupor,  which  made  her  think  the 
liquor  was  drugged.  And  how  she  sat  beside  him 
all  night,  and  near  morning  heard  a  step  in  the 
passage,  and,  looking  toward  the  door,  saw  the 
latch  slowly  moving  up  and  down,  as  if  somebody- 
were  trying  it.  And  how  she  shook  her  husband, 
and  tried  to  waken  him,  but  without  effect.  And 
how  at  last  the  door  yielded  slowly  at  the  top  (it 
was  bolted  below),  as  if  by  a  gradual  pressure 
without ;  and  how  a  hand  protruded  through  the 
opening.  And  how  as  quick  as  lightning  she 
nailed  that  hand  to  the  wall  with  her  scissors  (her 
only  weapon),  but  the  point  broke,  and  somebody 
got  away  with  a  fearful  oath.  How  she  never  told 
her  husband  of  it,  for  fear  he  would  kill  that  some- 
body ;  but  how  on  one  day  a  stranger  called  here,  and 
as  she  was  handing  him  his  coffee,  she  saw  a  queer 
triangular  scar  011  the  back  of  his  hand." 

She  was  still  talking,  and  the  wind  was  still 
blowing,  and  Ingomar  was  still  snoring  from  his 
couch  of  skins,  when  there  was  a  shout  high  up 
the  straggling  street,  and  a  clattering  of  hoofs,  and 
rattling  of  wheels.  The  mail  had  arrived.  Par- 
thenia  ran  with  the  faded  baby  to  awaken  Ingo- 
mar, and  almost  simultaneously  the  gallant  ex- 
pressman stood  again  before  me  addressing  me  by 
my  Christian  name,  and  inviting  me  to  drink  out 
of  a  mysterious  black  bottle.  The  horses  were 


352  A  NIGHT   AT   WTNGDAM. 

speedily  watered,  and  the  business  of  the  gallant 
expressman  concluded,  and,  bidding  Parthenia 
good  by,  I  got  on  the  stage,  and  immediately  fell 
asleep,  and  dreamt  of  calling  on  Parthenia  and 
Ingomar,  and  being  treated  with  pie  to  an  unlim- 
ited extent,  until  I  woke  up  the  next  morning  in 
Sacramento.  I  have  some  doubts  as  to  whether 
all  this  was  not  a  dyspeptic  dream,  but  I  never 
witness  the  drama,  and  hear  that  noble  sentiment 
poncerning  "  Two  souls,"  etc.,  without  thinking  of 
Wingdam  and  poor  Parthenia. 


THE   END 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 


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